


The Unquiet Grave

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Kidnapping, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Getting Back Together, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Post-Break Up, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-13 21:19:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14756492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: “Don’t cry,” the figure’s voice stated in what was meant to be a gentle tone as he calmly wiped Stiles’ tears away. “We’ll be together again soon, Marcello.”~*~After returning home to Beacon Hills, Stiles finds himself being stalked by a vampire who has mistaken him for its dearly departed lover of yore. Terrified out of his mind, Stiles turns to the pack for help—even if it does feel awkward asking for help from his Alpha slash ex.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from the song sung in Penny Dreadful, [Unquiet Grave](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pB0g59T8Pg0)
> 
> I got a request asking for Stiles being mistaken as a vampire's old lover, and being terrorized and stuff. And this is the result of that ask.
> 
> It's been a long in the making fic, and I wanted to take a break from the history AUs for a moment—even though I'm working on a few still, lol.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Also, I'm not changing the number of chapters, but there will be a "6th Chapter" that offers a little epilogue/closure after the ending events that happen in Chapter 5)

It all started with minor occurrences.

Stiles would go to work, visit his dad, having pack meetings, would come home and feel like something was off. At first, it would be that a cabinet door was open that he thought he closed. Then, his clothes would be in places he swore he never put them. He mentioned it in passing to Scott, who brushed it off as Stiles’ imagination getting the better of him.

That was until a bouquet of flowers appeared.

Stiles dropped everything in his hands when he walked into the dining room and caught sight of the flowers on the table in his apartment’s tiny kitchen. His heart was pounding in his ears as he recognized the vase—the one his dad had bought his mom before she went into the hospital. His fingers were shaking as he dialed his dad’s cell phone.

“Flowers?” His father questioned as he flipped through the file on his desk. “Stiles, I didn’t send you flowers.”

“You’re sure?” Stiles weakly asked, keeping his distance from the flowers.

“I think I’d remember getting you flowers,” the Sheriff answered. “Are you trying to tell me I forgot something?”

“Dad,” Stiles’ voice gravely started. “They’re in the vase—mom’s vase,” he stated. He knew his dad would understand—the vase Claudia had thrown at Stiles the day before she was hospitalized; the same vase Claudia had cut her hands on, trying to pick up the pieces as she apologized to a sobbing Stiles. Neither Stiles nor the Sheriff could part with the shards, leaving them in a box with Claudia’s other things.

The Sheriff paused, setting the papers down as he leaned back in his chair. “Stiles, that’s not possible.”

“It’s the vase,” Stiles fearfully countered.

“Stiles, your mother broke that vase. The pieces are still in the garage,” the Sheriff calmly explained.

“I can see the cracks,” Stiles answered, the lump in his throat rising as his eyes tracked one of the giant cracks in the side of the vase.

“Get out of there right now,” the Sheriff instructed, getting up from his desk. “I want you to go home and stay there until I get there.”

“Dad, if it’s the same vase—” Stiles drew in a sharp breath. “What if the house isn’t safe?”

The Sheriff paused, unable to believe that his own home could have been vulnerable to burglary. “Derek,” he finally stated. “Go to Derek.”

~*~

“Why can’t we just wait for the police?” Stiles whined as he stayed behind Derek, peering over Derek’s shoulder as they walked into the apartment.

“Because they wouldn’t let me near the apartment,” Derek countered. “And they might think it’s weird that I’m sniffing around. Literally.”

It was the first time Derek had come into Stiles’ apartment. It was awkward, even if it had been years since they broke up. But to be seeing the apartment Stiles left the loft for was a step Derek thought he’d never take. It was easier, for them both to pretend that there was only the Alpha and emissary bond between them.

Stiles lingered close to Derek’s side, his eyes scanning the apartment as he waited for something to jump out and scare them. He wrapped his arms around his waist, feeling an icy chill creeping up his spine as he turned to look out of the windows. He could feel something looking at him— _watching_ him. He moved behind Derek, blocking himself from view of the window. If Derek couldn’t feel anything, it was just his paranoia setting in.

Derek moved to circle the table, his eyes scanning the vase. “No card?”

“Nothing,” Stiles stated. “The door was still locked and everything. I don’t know how someone could have gotten it in here.”

“Your windows,” Derek stated, as if it was obvious. “They don’t lock.”

“I’m on the fifth floor,” Stiles countered. “Are you saying someone parkoured up here with a vase of flowers?”

“Not sure,” Derek offered in answer to Stiles’ sarcastic demand.

“Thanks,” Stiles deadpanned.

“I can’t smell anything on the vase,” Derek stated, partially ignoring Stiles as a frown pulled at his lips as he stared at the flowers.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Stiles hopefully asked.

"No," Derek answered. "It's a bad thing."

"Of course it is," Stiles sighed in defeat.

“We’re not dealing with a human,” Derek concluded as he folded his arms over his chest. “Something supernatural that can easily make it through that window and mask its scent.”

“So, it has something to do with the pack?” Stiles questioned, his stomach churning with the idea that some creature was lurking around his apartment.

“Possibly,” Derek answered, leaning back against the doorway between Stiles’ living room and kitchen. He looked up at Stiles, able to feel how tense he had become. “I’m not going to lie to you, Stiles. It might be because of your spark.”

“You mean it wants to drain me of life,” Stiles bitterly stated.

“It might not even know what it’s doing,” Derek commented.

“Derek,” Stiles sighed as he looked up at him. “Whatever it is, it broke into my childhood home, stole the shards of a vase that was my mother’s, pieced the vase back together, and _then_ broke into my apartment and left it on my kitchen table with flowers in it.”

Derek’s eyes drifted towards the vase. “When you put it like that,” he started. “I’m not sure what it could be.”

Stiles stared at Derek. “You’re lying.”

Derek frowned, looking back at Stiles.

“I know you and your eyebrows, Derek. Your right eyebrow always goes higher when you lie about something,” Stiles stated, as if it was an obvious thing to know Derek did. “I don’t need to hear your heartbeat to know. So just tell me.”

“Whatever it is, it’s courting you,” Derek finally stated. “It left you a gift. And if what you told me before is true, it sounds as if it cleaned your apartment.”

“So I have a stalker,” Stiles stated, a shuddering breath raking through his chest. “Great.”

“We’ll get it sorted out,” Derek offered.

“Derek, this isn’t a pack issue, it’s a personal issue—my entire life isn’t safe now,” Stiles argued as he collapsed his body into the chair by the table. “Whoever— _whatever_ is doing this isn’t helping me feel comfortable on my own.”

“You shouldn't stay here by yourself then,” Derek concluded. He moved towards the living room, turning his head as he inspected the apartment. “Take what you need and I’ll drop you off at your dad’s.”

“Derek, that vase—”

“Was likely taken when your dad was on shift, right?” Derek asked as he turned to look at Stiles. “As long as your dad is home, it’s safer there than here by yourself. Your dad could even put a patrol outside the house.”

Stiles hesitated before nodding.

“I have to have a meeting with Peter about this,” Derek explained. “I can stop by afterwards.”

Stiles sighed. “Great, Peter is going to be involved now.”

“If anyone knows what this thing could be, it would be Peter,” Derek stated.

“Yeah, creeper wolf would know,” Stiles echoed in agreement. “Just keep me in the loop.” He moved towards his bedroom, pausing his movements to look out the window. An unsteady feeling fell over him again.

Stiles figured that after everything, he was entitled to asking Derek if he’d at least stay with him until his dad came home. Part of him felt bad, knowing that Derek would say yes once he caught on to Stiles’ chemo signals.

~*~

Stiles felt stupid when nothing else happened. He was patiently sitting at Parrish’s desk, filing out the paperwork necessary to file a report with the Station. He hoped this was the only thing that would come from all of it.

“Doing homework?”

Stiles sighed, inwardly cringing when he recognized the voice belonging to one of his father’s deputies. He looked up to see Jason. He wished it had been one of the other deputies, having already talked to his dad about Jason’s inappropriate attitude towards him. He still remembered the incident that happened a few months into Jason’s job.

If Derek getting into a fist fight with a Sheriff’s deputy counted as an incident.

“I haven’t had homework for years,” Stiles answered before turning back to his paperwork. He was focusing on his handwriting when Jason leaned against Parrish’s desk.

“Haven’t seen you around here in a while,” Jason commented.

Stiles didn’t look up at him. “I just moved back a few months ago—I’m sure my dad mentioned that.” He tried to turn the paper away from Jason’s gaze when he realized the deputy was leaning over to see what he was filling out.

“Something happen?”

Stiles wished Parrish would hurry up and get back from the vending machine. “An incident report.”

Jason made a faint noise of understanding. “Is it Hale?”

Stiles stopped writing, forcing himself to look at Jason. “No, Deputy Mandel, it has nothing to do with Derek,” he stated with force.

Jason reached a hand out, touching Stiles’ arm. “Hey, you don’t have to cover for him here—you’re safe.”

Stiles moved to stand, getting out of Jason’s reach. “Derek Hale has done nothing to me that I did not want,” he uttered, not realizing how those words sounded to a person who knew nothing of the supernatural world.

“That’s … pretty telling,” Jason chose to say as he stood up too, his attention turning to Parrish.

“Everything okay?” Parrish asked as he moved to stand beside Stiles. He had two sodas in his hand, having grabbed one for Stiles in hopes of calming his nerves.

“Fine, Jordan,” Jason stated, nodding towards them both. “Just catching up,” he added before backing away.

Stiles waited until Jason had gone out of the bullpen, sitting back down at Parrish’s desk. “I hate that guy,” he sighed.

“We all do,” Parrish confessed as he set the soda intended for Stiles down on the desk. “He isn’t exactly the easiest to get along with. Plus, the whole weird competition he has going on with Derek isn’t helping anyone.”

Stiles picked at the soda can’s tab, looking at Parrish. “Competition?” He asked, knowing that it was more than likely Jason still held animosity towards Derek for breaking his nose.

“Yeah, he’s always trying to outdo Derek on everything,” Parrish shrugged. “But it’s really obvious that he can’t beat Derek in a lot of things.”

Stiles partially snorted. “Even if Derek wasn’t a werewolf, he still is way too competitive to let someone like Jason Mandel beat him in anything.”

Parrish lightly laughed at that. “Derek said the same thing.”

Stiles’ smile was weak, fading quickly. He regretted that Parrish noticed.

“Look, I know it is kind of weird being back,” Parrish started. “With your own apartment, your ex working with your dad, and now this whole breaking and entering on top of it—I guess I mean to say, I know it’s a lot, but we’re all willing to help out.”

Stiles nodded at that. “Thanks, Parrish.”

Parrish put a warm, welcoming hand on Stiles’ shoulder, a gentle gesture that he hoped would calm him. He left Stiles alone to finish filling out the report, knowing that he would be less anxious sitting alone then with a pair of eyes on him.

~*~

Stiles looked paler than normal, darkened circles around his eyes making them appear sunken, as if life was being pulled out of him. He was growing increasingly tired the more days he went without knowing what was stalking him, his spark working in overdrive to compensate his lack of sleep. He could feel a presence whenever he was walking on the sidewalk. He could feel eyes on him even when he was at work, moving about the bookstore in near complete silence.

Erica told him not to worry, that with her and Kira working in the cafe, it was more than likely that the creature wouldn’t bother him.

He still worried.

And then, one morning, Stiles woke up in a cold sweat, his whole body aching. His neck was throbbing, feeling as if it was on fire. He reached a hand up to massage the ache away, startling when his fingertips touched a wet liquid. He startled when he saw that it was blood.

He ripped himself away from the bed to discover a giant stain of blood covering his sheets. He looked down at the blood covering his clothes.

Memories of the Nogitsune and sleep walking plagued his thoughts as he stumbled away from the bed. He had gone years without a night terror, having them stop almost a month into sharing a bed with Derek. But he was still terrified of waking up to discovered that he was still possessed—that the past years have been nothing but lies, and he was still killing for the demon fox.

Stiles forced his feet to move, running to the bathroom to use the mirror. He leaned against the counter as he stared at himself in the reflective surface. His stomach churned, a dry heave forcing itself up his throat. His entire body retched as he scrambled for the toilet.

Something had torn into Stiles’ neck, leaving behind a bloodied mess.

A jagged series of sharp fangs had torn his skin open to leave a gaping wound. It had dried, no gushing blood to be seen, but it looked ready to tear open and bleed with little effort.

Stiles tried to catch his breath as a panic circled in his chest, flushing the toilet to get rid of the vomit’s stench. He turned his body to lean his back against the wall by the toilet, closing his eyes as he counted down. He tried to focus on the different techniques his doctors and therapists tried to offer as solutions to countering a panic attack. He breathed in calmly as he tried to regain control of his trembling limbs.

It wasn’t working—his world was becoming smaller with every passing second as he felt like he was about to pass out.

_Alpha. Beta. Omega._

Derek’s voice repeated it like a mantra, the words he taught to the pack with Stiles observing on the sidelines.

“Alpha, Beta, Omega,” Stiles whispered out, forcing himself to recite the words. He repeated it until he just thought about the pack, warmth flooding his chest as he focused on their familiar and smiling faces.

Stiles rested his head against the wall when he felt his panic attack disappearing. He reached a hand up to touch his neck, feeling the grooved indents of the bite mark. He knew it wasn’t a werewolf bite, having inspected Scott’s multiple times before they figured out that werewolves existed. This bite was jagged, savage in nature, as if the owner of the fangs had been in a hurry to sink into Stiles’ neck.

There was nothing beautiful about this mark, not like the bite Derek had given to his Betas.

Stiles weakly forced himself to stand, moving into the shower. He barely jumped when the cold water streamed down from the showerhead and hit his unharmed shoulder. He breathed in the steam of the warming water, sighing in relief as it comforted him. He cautiously moved his body under the water, allowing it to touch his wound for the first time.

A stinging pain shot through his body as the water hit the bite, a sharp intake of breath as the only sign that Stiles was registering the sensation. He closed his eyes as he let the water wash over him, trying to ignore the world outside his bathroom.

It wasn’t until he started heading back into his room, a towel wrapped around his hips, that he remembered the sheets. He knew that he’d have to wash or burn the sheets, along with his stained shirt, before his dad got home. He didn’t want his father seeing all the blood. He took a deep breath, willing himself to move forward into the room. His eyes wandered over to the bed, looking at the darkened stain covering a good fourth of his blue sheets.

Stiles froze in his tracks. He stumbled backwards towards the doorway, staring at the single rose on his nightstand. A black ribbon was wrapped around the rose’s stem in a neat bow.

~*~

Derek knew something was wrong the second Stiles walked in the loft. He had promised Stiles he’d stop keeping track of his chemo signals, but it wasn’t always so easy for him. It especially wasn’t easy when Stiles wreaked of anxiety, putting Derek’s wolf on edge.

His eyes lingered on the scarf, noticing how out of place it looked on Stiles. He allowed Stiles to brush off the pack’s teasing.

“Hiding hickeys, Stilinski?” Jackson taunted as he resumed his seat next to Lydia.

“Maybe,” Stiles shot back, there being more bite in his answer than truth.

Lydia turned her head to look at Stiles. “Concealer works better than a scarf,” she offered, not at all believing Stiles’ suggestion that he was wearing a winter scarf to hide hickeys.

“He doesn’t smell like anyone new,” Isaac countered.

“Can we not talk about me like I’m not here?” Stiles huffed, taking his messenger bag off his shoulder. He tried not to be telling in favoring one side.

“Parrish said you had stopped by the station,” Scott started as he leaned forward on the couch. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, making out with someone at the station, right under your father’s nose,” Jackson snickered.

Scott’s eyes flickered over to Derek briefly.

Derek didn’t say anything, not bothering to return Scott’s glance. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to start this meeting and then get some sleep,” he stated in an annoyed tone. “I have third shift tonight.”

“Are you two fucking again?” Jackson addressed the elephant in the room.

Lydia nudged Jackson with her elbow, giving him a sharp glare when he acted aloof.

“Contrary to what some think, I don’t have sex when I’m working,” Derek stated in a bored tone.

“That doesn’t answer the question—”

“Because he didn’t answer it,” Boyd finally stated, looking at Jackson as his eyes flashed gold. It was a warning to drop it.

Nobody brought up Stiles’ scarf or Derek’s sex life again that night.

Stiles waited for everyone to leave, not caring for Scott’s lingering gaze before Kira finally pushed him out the door. He waited until Derek turned to look at him.

“What happened?” Derek asked when Stiles didn’t make a move to speak.

“Something … something really bad,” Stiles breathed as he reached up for the scarf. He released a pitiful laugh when he realized his hands were shaking. He pulled the fabric, slipping it from around his neck.

Derek’s face fell the moment he saw the bandage wrapped around the dip of Stiles’ shoulder.

“I woke up, my bed covered in blood,” Stiles explained, keeping his eyes elsewhere. “I … I’m freaking out, Derek. I don’t know what to do. I was sleeping and— how do I know that I’m safe anymore? If I can’t even sleep in my own room— if I can’t—”

“Stiles, calm down,” Derek instructed as he moved forward, holding onto Stiles’ outstretched arms as he steadied him. “Take a few breaths, and calm down.”

“I’m scared,” Stiles finally admitted. “I’m so scared. I feel like I’m screaming and no one is listening.”

“I’m right here. You’re safe, Stiles,” Derek stated in reassurance. “We’re going to figure this out.” He effortlessly pulled Stiles in close, holding him against his chest.

It was something simple, yet intimate, between them—something Derek often had done when Stiles suffered a panic attack.

Stiles matched his breathing to Derek’s, closing his eyes as he focused on their chests moved in sync with one another. It was a steady rhythm that always calmed him.

“Can I see it,” Derek softly asked when he was sure Stiles was calm enough to proceed.

Stiles weakly nodded, moving his hands to hold onto Derek’s shirt to steady himself, turning his head to the side as he took a step back. He stilled when he felt Derek stiffen at the gesture. “Sorry,” he quickly uttered, moving backwards as he corrected his neck. “I wasn’t thinking—”

“It’s fine,” Derek stated in a hollow tone. He dug his nails down into his palm, trying to keep the need to shift at bay. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he firmly uttered.

Stiles was silent, feeling foolish. “Do you want me to turn my back to you?”

Derek shook his head. “That’d be worse,” he mumbled.

Stiles nodded. “I just won’t … bare my neck then …”

Derek sighed, reaching a hand out to guide Stiles towards him again. “It’s fine,” he forcefully stated. “Let me take a look at it.”

Derek gently peeled the bandage away from Stiles’ skin. He froze when he saw the marred flesh beneath, the way fangs had harshly dug into the soft curve of Stiles’ neck. His eyes flooded red, the Alpha spark glowing brightly as he tried to focus on recognizing the type of wound.

“You didn’t wake up?” Derek questioned, his throat dry. There was an animalistic need to nurture—to tend to Stiles’ wound.

“No,” Stiles weakly stated. “I don’t know how I couldn’t. I just woke up with this.”

Some animal thought it had a right to mark Stiles as its own. Some creature took away Stiles’ will to choose such a bond.

“I’m not sure about what it could be,” Derek explained, eyebrows furrowing. “It’s not a werewolf bite—I’d be able to smell the owner’s scent. Whatever this is … It doesn’t have a scent.”

“It … whatever it is, it left a rose,” Stiles explained. “I threw it away, I didn’t even think about asking you.”

“It’s fine,” Derek answered. “I can take a look at it later,” he explained as he placed the bandage back over the wound.

“You mean take a sniff?” Stiles partially smirked as he looked at Derek.

Derek couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “Yeah, take a sniff. But we should talk to Deaton about this.”

Stiles groaned, reluctantly nodding in agreement. He hated how unhelpful Deaton was, constantly being enigmatic in his answers.

This time, however, Deaton wasn’t enigmatic with his answers. He was straight forward. He didn’t even blink when he saw the wound on Stiles’ neck.

“Does the rest of the pack know about this?” Deaton plainly asked.

“No,” Stiles stated, his eyes warily moving to look at Peter. “Why is Peter here?”

“Because he’s helping,” Derek unhelpfully answered.

“I need to have a look—to add to my notes,” Peter chimed in.

“Shut up,” Derek softly replied, not taking his eyes off of Stiles.

“It’s a claiming bit,” Deaton announced, his gaze looking over at Derek. “But I’m guessing from the silence, it wasn’t you,” he concluded.

Derek finally looked at Deaton. “I wouldn’t nearly tear his throat out with a claiming bite,” he sharply growled.

“Wouldn’t even give him a claiming bite,” Peter commented.

Derek actively moved towards Peter with intent.

“Gentlemen,” Deaton tiredly uttered. “If you want to solve this, bloodshed isn’t going to help right now.”

Stiles watched as Derek took a wide berth from Peter, almost pacing back and forth as he waited for Deaton to finish examining Stiles’ neck.

“Yes, well, it’s definitely not a werewolf’s claiming bite,” Deaton spoke to Stiles, ignoring Peter and Derek. “But I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. Do you not remember anything happening?”

“No,” Stiles stated, pulling his gaze from Derek. “I just woke up like I normally do. A little sore, and then … then I noticed all the blood.”

“It doesn’t hurt?” Deaton asked, curiously arching his eyebrow.

“No,” Stiles weakly answered. “That’s one of the things that is bothering me.”

“You honestly didn’t wake up when this happened?” Deaton question as he moved closer to inspect the wound once more.

“Why would I lie about that?” Stiles partially snapped.

Deaton’s features scrunched, as if he was displeased with that answer. He shook his head before uttering, “It may have released a type of neurotoxin, something that is still in your veins, numbing your nerve endings for the most part.”

“Is there a way to get it out?” Stiles immediately asked, a panic spiking in his chest when he heard Deaton say ‘neurotoxin.’

“Without knowing what creature caused it, treating it is nearly impossible,” Deaton explained. “I could do more harm than good. And in all likelihood, it should wear off soon.”

“There is a way to see what did it,” Peter chimed in from his place in the corner. “I could easily access Stiles’ memories—”

“And I’m more frightened about senior psychopath poking around my brain than I am about the neurotoxins,” Stiles quickly countered. He gave a mocking scowl to Peter when the older man dared to look hurt by Stiles’ words.

“I could do it,” Derek stated, breaking the silence that fell across the room. “If you would rather that,” he added as an afterthought, wanting to make sure Stiles knew he had a choice.

“I’d much rather that,” Stiles answered as he looked at Derek.

Derek faintly nodded, moving forward.

Stiles moved towards the edge of the examination table. He pressed his hands against the metal table, fingers curling around the edge as he hung his head down in order to expose his neck to Derek. The wound covering the bend between his shoulder and neck began to throb, a pain shooting through his shoulder. “I just felt something,” he softly commented.

“You’re revealing a claiming bite to someone it doesn’t belong to,” Deaton explained. “More importantly, to someone that you had a romantic entanglement with once. It means that whatever it was, the creature was sentient when leaving the mark.”

“Great,” Stiles weakly uttered.

Derek hesitated before placing his hand on Stiles. He ran his thumb along the soft span of Stiles’ neck as he pinpointed the correct spots to insert his claws into.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t paralyze me,” Stiles stated when he felt Derek’s claws graze his skin.

“No pressure,” Derek replied. A small smile pulled at his lips when Stiles released a faint chuckle. “Take a deep breath, and try not to move in reaction.”

“Okay,” Stiles softly answered, anxiety spiking in his scent as he waited.

Derek easily dug his claws into Stiles’ skin, a spark shooting up into his arm when the connection solidified. He tried to focus on finding the missing memory, something that could have been hidden away from Stiles.

An array of memories flashed by, flickering too fast for Derek to even try and pinpoint. He suddenly found himself alone in a darkened room. It looked similar to the locker room at Beacon High—but something was wrong. It was darker, unnatural in how quiet it was.

Derek quickly turned around when he heard the rustling behind him. Footsteps rang out as feet hurried to carry their owner away from Derek.

“Wait,” Derek stated with force, chasing after the shadow fleeing from him. He could feel Stiles’ anxiety and fear overlapping everything, every door leading to a hallway that was just an eternal loop. He felt a sense of déjà vu falling over him, remembering how fast he had run from the locker room to get to Paige before Ennis did. He remembered how his sneakers slipped against the tile, how he couldn’t run fast enough. But this time, the person seemed to be running from him, not calling for his help.

This wasn’t working. With every hallway Derek reached the end of, there was another in his way, the footsteps being too far ahead.

“I won’t hurt you,” Derek softly stated, his footsteps slowing. “I want to help,” he admitted aloud, turning to find that the hallway behind him had changed once again. He stared down at the small shadow now in front of him.

“You can’t help,” an echoing voice answered. “No one helps.”

Stiles’ voice rang throughout the hallway, vacant and melancholy.

_I’m fine._

_I’m not a hero, dad._

_I can’t lose both my parents._

_Some of us are human!_

Derek suddenly realized what the shadow was.

“You’re my pack,” Derek gently stated. “You’re my emissary.”

The shadow melted away, revealing a child no older than eight—a child Derek knew to be Stiles. His hair was buzzed short, his eyes appearing too large for his face as he stared up at Derek.

“You’ll just leave,” the child stated. He shook his head, looking down at Derek’s boots. “No one stays.”

“I won’t leave you, Stiles,” Derek stated.

“That’s what mommy said,” Stiles stubbornly stated, tears burning his eyes as he pinned Derek with a glare. “And if mommy can’t keep her word, you won’t either.”

Derek knew that heated glare—he had one that he still hid behind to keep himself from caring again. He knelt in front of Stiles, resting his hands on his bent knee. He looked Stiles in the eyes, holding his gaze until the child’s glare faltered some. “You’re right,” he agreed.

Stiles looked taken aback, as if he might start running again. But he stood his ground, the furrow of his eyebrows lightening some.

“Sometimes people promise to be here longer than they can be,” Derek explained. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t want to be here for you.” His features softened some, saddened as he thought about his own family. “But I’m going to be here for you. As long as I can.”

Stiles frowned, his glare completely vanished as he sorrowfully stared at Derek. “I don’t want to be alone. I’m … I’m scared.”

“I’m right here,” Derek offered.

Stiles seemed startled by something as he turned to look away from Derek, down into the darkened part of the hallway. He looked as if he was watching something—as if there was something only he could see lurking in the shadows. He grabbed Derek’s hand, pulling him away from the shadows, taking one of the side doors to help him escape the growing darkness. “It’s mad that you’re here.”

“What’s mad?” Derek asked, allowing the child to lead him.

“It doesn’t like you,” Stiles answered, pulling on him. “It doesn’t like that you make me feel safe.”

Derek dared to look behind him when he heard a scream. “That’s … ” He knew it was Stiles’ scream.

“He doesn’t want you seeing that,” Stiles explained. “It kept the memory because it could use it to hurt me—to hurt you. It wanted to help the bad man.”

“The bad man,” Derek thoughtfully echoed. “Who doesn’t want me seeing this?” He asked, still confused with what was happening. He noticed that the hallway they were in mirrored that of the loft’s stairway. He kept a tight hold on Stiles’ hand when another pained gasp rang out.

“The man that watches me,” Stiles stated, moving behind Derek. He peeked out behind Derek’s leg, looking down the gloomy hallway. “He doesn’t want me knowing, not yet. He said he just wanted a taste … That he wanted to make sure I was still his.”

Derek moved forward, following after the labored breathing and heavy gasps—the soft pleas for it to stop. Stiles’ child form was the anchor holding him back, trying to pull him away from the sound.

“You won’t be happy,” Stiles argued. “You’ll be so mad—so mad.” His breathing sounded pained, as if he was panicking.

Derek turned to look at Stiles, reaching his free hand to touch Stiles’ shoulder. “I won’t be mad at you.”

Stiles blindly hugged Derek, holding onto him. “Don’t leave me. No matter what it does … don’t leave me,” he begged.

A loud bang sounded out against the metal door near them, causing the child to startle in Derek’s hold.

“It’s here,” Stiles lightly breathed.

Derek looked down at Stiles, wondering what the child knew—if it truly was how Stiles saw and projected himself in his mind, or if it was just another illusion. When he looked up, the metal door was open, moonlight shining through the large windows.

A shadowy form stood in their way of moving forward. It was smoke and mirrors, nothing solid about it besides the rows of teeth that gleamed brightly in a sickening smile at them. Yellow, glowing orbs floated through the thick smoke, twinkling in a taunting manner. Bright fireflies burning through the darkness as eyes.

_When is a door not a door?_

The voice was loud and echoing.

“Get out of the way,” Derek growled, ready to shift if necessary.

“That’s not how we play,” the shadow rumbled back, its voice a distorted version of Stiles’. “We like riddles. Solve the riddle, and you get a gift.”

“When it’s ajar,” Stiles piped up from behind Derek.

“The boy finally came out to play,” it laughed, its form swaying in the air. “We’ve been trying to find him for a long time,” it commented, a ghostly arm solidifying to reach for Stiles.

Derek shifted at the first sign of Stiles’ fear spiking, snapping his fangs at the shadow.

“You’ve never played this game, Derek Hale,” it called out, withdrawing its hand despite its air of confidence. “But you brought me a gift last time we met. I should do the same for you.”

“You’re dead,” Derek stated, knowing this shadow was the remnants of the night terrors the Nogitsune still gave Stiles.

“We’ll never be dead, not for him,” the Nogitsune answered.

"You can't hurt him anymore," Derek growled between fangs.

"That's where you're wrong," the Nogitsune answered. "We always hurt him."

"Not as long as I'm around," Derek snapped, his hand still touching Stiles' shoulder, keeping him safely behind him as he felt the child tremble with fear of the Nogitsune.

“He’s always afraid of us,” the Nogitsune explained. “Whether he’s a child trembling behind you, or a man stumbling around without you.”

“You lost,” Derek countered. “You lost the moment you chose Stiles. He’s better than the rest of us—stronger. He cares more.”

“He cares more about his friends and family—his _loved ones_ —than he does himself,” the Nogitsune corrected Derek. “That’s why he was so easy to possess.” It smiled at Derek. “And when he’s ready to beg us to come back, we’ll be there. We’ll be the one to save him from the animal.”

Derek realized that Nogitsune was taunting him. “What animal?”

Its smile somehow widened with glee. “The one that wants him back—the one that yearns to mate him.”

“Don’t listen to it,” Stiles pleaded with Derek. “It lies—it wants to scare you because it’s afraid of you.”

The Nogitsune snapped its teeth at Stiles, frightening the child. It ended up cowering under Derek’s protective roar.

Derek waited until the shadow vanished, leaving them with a way forward into the loft. There was a bed amongst the soft glow of the moonlight projecting in the room. Derek could see two figures amongst it, recognizing it as Stiles’ bed from his apartment.

“He hid it in my safe space—the loft,” Stiles softly explained to Derek, his hand slowly sliding out of Derek’s. “The animal,” he started, looking up at Derek and away from the frozen memory. “It wasn’t talking about you. Don’t think like that.”

Derek didn’t bother pretending to not know what Stiles was talking about.

“The animal—the bad man—doesn’t care about me, not like you do. It wants someone else,” Stiles vaguely commented.

“I’ll find it,” Derek promised.

“Don’t,” Stiles shook his head. “The bad man will kill to keep me locked away.” Stiles’ childlike form morphed into a new one, slowly giving way to an adult Stiles. This form mirrored the Stiles in Derek’s reality—the one sitting on the vet’s examination table with Derek’s claws buried deep in his neck.

Tears burned Stiles’ eyes as he sorrowfully looked at Derek. “And I won’t watch you die, Derek. You walked away from me once, and that nearly killed me. Watching you die … that would be the end.”

Stiles disappeared from sight, leaving Derek alone to watch the hidden memory.

The scene before Derek started to play out, the figures slowly coming to life. Derek took a few steps closer, needing to see what was happening.

Stiles was sleeping, the figure looming over him was shadowed out. The figure’s clothes were Victorian style, the only clear clue that Stiles’ memory could recall before it being nearly erased. The figure’s fingertips trailed along Stiles’ face, slowly slipping down to touch the pulse point of Stiles’ neck, directly where the bite mark was.

Stiles’ sleeping form stirred, agitated by the unwanted contact.

The figure moved to slowly climb onto the bed with Stiles. It loomed above him, hands moving to press down on his shoulders. Fangs appeared, the moonlight illuminating them. It swiftly moved, fangs tearing into Stiles’ neck.

Stiles violently awoke, screaming as he tried to fight off whatever the figure was. He cried out, legs valiantly kicking out in protest, fighting to save his life. His movements slowed, his breathing becoming labored as his body sunk back into the mattress, his limbs going limp.

Derek wanted to reach out, to tear the figure apart, even fully knowing it was just a dream.

The figure pulled back from Stiles, admiring its handiwork. It’s fingers pressed into the bite it left on Stiles’ neck, a smile pulling across the fangs when Stiles didn’t flinch.

Stiles’ breathing was heavy, almost impossible to hear as he gasped for the smallest breath. Tears flowed down his face, blurring his vision as he lay eerily still. His heart was beating loudly, pounding in Derek’s ears.

It was then that Derek realized it. Stiles was having a panic attack, but was completely incapable of moving or remedying it, only making the pain worse.

“Don’t cry,” the figure’s voice stated in what was meant to be a gentle tone as he calmly wiped Stiles’ tears away. “We’ll be together again soon, Marcello.”

~*~

Derek didn’t look at Stiles as he mulled over what happened.

Stiles rubbed at his neck, his fingertips tracing over the marks Derek’s fingernails had left behind as he allowed Deaton to finish stitching up his wound. He looked over at Derek, watching him silently brood in the corner.

Deaton finished taping a patch over Stiles’ stitches.

“Does the name Marcello sound familiar to you?” Derek finally asked, pushing himself to look at Stiles. He was grateful that Peter was shutting up for once, and that his uncle understood this was too serious for his sarcasm.

“That sounds Italian,” Stiles commented, looking at Derek. “I’ve never heard it, though.” His eyebrows furrowed when Derek’s frown deepened. “Why?”

“The thing that bit you—it’s sentient. It has an obsession with you. It … It was watching you sleep before it bit you,” Derek answered.

“How do you know that if I was asleep?” Stiles asked.

“Because you weren’t once it bit you,” Peter concluded, placing his hands in the air, a placating gesture, when Derek turned a glare at him. “I’m just saying, that his spark was likely aware of the creature, only to become alert once it touched him.”

“When it bit you,” Derek started, turning a gentler gaze on Stiles. “You woke up and tried to fight it off. But you felt it touch you, lingering above you. Your spark likely reacted to the intrusion.”

Stiles paled a bit. “But I couldn’t even slow it down, right?” He sounded resigned, as if he was ashamed of himself for being so weak.

“You tried, but as soon as it bit you, your body went limp,” Derek explained.

“Sounds like it releases neurotoxins when biting its victim,” Deaton stated. He looked at Derek, uncertain if he should make the connection first.

“I think it’s a vampire,” Derek replied, making the announcement instead of Deaton.

Deaton’s features twisted slightly, his normally calm reserve changing to a look of slight bewilderment. “That was my guess at first, but there hasn’t been a recorded vampire in Beacon Hills for centuries.”

“Perhaps it is the same vampire, awoken from a century’s old nap,” Peter commented.

“Am I going to turn into a vampire?” Stiles quickly demanded to know, paranoid that he was going to stop having a reflection and possibly having to drink blood on a daily basis.

“No,” Deaton simply answered.

“Deaton was right before—it’s a claiming bite,” Derek truthfully answered. “This vampire thinks you’re a person named Marcello,” he explained. “He said ‘We’ll be together again soon, Marcello.’”

Stiles’ features sunk. “I don’t want that,” he quietly stated, unable to stop himself. “What the hell are we going to do?”

“The vampire will more than likely know where you are now that you have his claiming bite,” Deaton explained. “He’ll have to keep renewing it, which means these nightly visits will continue unless you’re properly guarded.”

“The pack will take turns,” Derek stated, not waiting for Deaton to ask. “This is more serious than we thought, so we have to tell them,” he answered Stiles’ silent question. He turned to Peter. “Lydia and Kira can help with the research—we’ll start on all the information we have from the Argent bestiary on vampires, I’ll work on looking into who this Marcello could be. It’s the only lead we have to who this vampire could be.”

“And what will we do with Stiles in the meantime, dear nephew?” Peter questioned.

“I have to keep working at the bookstore,” Stiles stated before Derek could just throw him in a vault and lock the door behind him.

“Peter can go with you,” Derek stated, looking at Peter.

Peter recognized the command in Derek’s words. “I love reading,” he simply answered.

Stiles soured some, dreading the idea of Peter following him around everyday.

“Now that the Alpha has given out orders, do you have any questions, Mr. Stilinski?” Deaton asked.

Derek glared at Deaton. It wasn’t a negative thing to order his pack around if it meant that Stiles would be safe.

“If it’s a claiming bite,” Stiles started, his features twisting slightly. “Never mind,” he quietly dismissed the thought.

Peter looked at Derek, arching his eyebrows at him. “That didn’t sound like nothing,” he broke the silence.

“It’s stupid,” Stiles dismissively explained.

“You were going to ask about a counter claim, weren’t you?” Deaton asked.

Stiles looked at Deaton before reluctantly nodding, staring down at his shoes.

“Do you want to be a werewolf?” Deaton asked as he looked back at Stiles.

“I thought you once said Derek could mark his pack without transferring the bite,” Stiles explained, finally looking at Derek. “Or is that something you have to learn?”

Derek looked up at Stiles, his scowl deepening. “No, I know how to,” he finally stated. “But marking someone instead of turning them into a werewolf is different.”

“So I’d be a different type of werewolf?” Stiles questioned.

“Different is putting this lightly, Stiles,” Deaton offered in explanation.

Stiles looked at Derek, understanding that it was probably what his gut had been telling him it would be.

“Alpha-mate,” Peter finally stated from his silent corner. “An Alpha can mark a human as a mate,” he explained. “There’s a whole ceremony that goes along with it, actually—incense, chanting, sex under the full moon. And then you’d bare your throat to Derek, and he’d bite you. Then you’d be the Hale pack’s Alpha-mate.” He looked at Derek. “But you already rejected that once, right?”

Derek wordlessly grabbed Peter, yanking him in close before slamming his uncle against the wall. His clawed hand wrapped around Peter’s throat, his teeth bared.

Deaton backed away to give them room.

“Derek!” Stiles started as he jumped off the examination table. “He’s being an asshole, let him go!” He snapped at Derek, yanking on Derek’s arm.

Peter’s eyes glowed an icy blue, his own fangs bared in counter to Derek.

“Let him go,” Stiles firmly ordered Derek as he yanked him back. He knew Derek let him when he easily pulled both men apart.

Derek wordlessly pulled out of Stiles’ grasp, leaving the vet’s office with a loud slam of the door.

“I guess that marks that out,” Peter commented as he straightened his jacket.

“Why do you have to be an asshole?” Stiles sighed as he looked at Peter.

“He’s the one that broke your heart,” Peter replied. “I thought you’d be happy someone pointed it out.”

Stiles shook his head, taking his own turn to leave. He pulled his phone out, texting Derek to meet him at his house, knowing that he was going to need someone to help explain all this to his dad.

**_We should have a pack meeting at my dad’s house_ **

Only a few seconds passed before his phone vibrated with Derek’s response.

**_I’ll be there_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets more intense from here on out ... And the vampire gets more screen time next chapter! His name will be revealed, as well as who this Marcello (Marr-sell-o) was to him.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it so far!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post this chapter a few days earlier than I originally intended. I had a minor shift at work today, so I decided to relax some and work on editing this chapter.
> 
> I'm aiming for an update every 1-2 week(s).
> 
> Thank you all for taking your time to read and comment, it means the world! <3 Enjoy!!

“Stiles already has wards up in the loft protecting it,” Derek explained to John. “Even if this vampire manages to somehow get passed them, I have heightened enough senses that I’d wake up the moment it touched the loft door or windows.”

“A lot of people have broken into the loft to fight you, Derek,” Scott countered. “What’s so different now?”

“Stiles,” Derek stated, as if it was the most obvious thing. “I didn’t have an emissary then, much less a powerful one like Stiles. With those wards up, it’s next to impossible for any supernatural creature with malicious intentions to get through.”

“This thing doesn’t think what it’s doing is wrong, though,” Lydia argued.

“If any of you have a better solution than Derek’s, I’m all ears,” the Sheriff interrupted their argument. “I want my son safe, first and foremost. And so far, he hasn’t been.”

Scott sulked, crossing his arms over his chest. “The loft would probably be the safest,” he begrudgingly admitted. “Any place with Derek would be.”

“Even if the vampire is a few centuries old, it’s not going to want to willingly face an Alpha just for some prey,” Isaac offered.

“And if it does?” John asked.

Derek looked at the Sheriff. “If it does, I’ll rip the thing apart.”

“I could hang around some days too,” Boyd commented. “Derek’s stronger around us, so it couldn’t hurt.”

“We could all take turns rotating,” Erica added as she leaned against the counter. “An Alpha, Beta, and emissary are a frightening mix, even for a vamp.”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to at least have a patrol outside the building,” the Sheriff offered as he looked at Derek.

Derek hesitated before nodding. “I would recommend—”

“The deputies know that Stiles has a stalker,” the Sheriff explained. “And they know the protocol is to call anything in before heading out.”

Derek didn’t like it, knowing that humans could react badly when things that were once thought to be fantasy were revealed to be truths. To make things worse, Derek worried about them confronting the vampire and being ill equipped to handle it.

“I’ve had a few meetings with Chris,” the Sheriff started, surprising Derek. “And I’ve had the Sheriff’s department ammunition … modified to handle Beacon Hill’s particular brand of criminal.”

Derek released a small snort of approval. He could see where Stiles got his employment of preemptive measures from. “I guess the last person to ask is Stiles,” he uttered, turning his head to look at the door leading to the living. “You might as well come in,” he added, not at all surprised when Stiles seemed to appear out of thin air.

“You said you were sleeping,” the Sheriff started, surprised by his son’s sudden presence. He had been surprised when Stiles nearly collapsed on the stairs upon arriving home. He helped Stiles up, bringing him upstairs to his bed to rest.

“I couldn’t,” Stiles honestly answered. He looked at Derek. “You knew I was there the whole time?”

“When I couldn’t hear you coming down the steps for a closer listen, I figured you were using a spell,” Derek replied.

“I didn’t even hear you,” Scott honestly commented.

“I’ve been practicing this one since …” Stiles cut himself off, simply gesturing to his neck instead of explaining how he lived in perpetual fear of being stared at by any random stranger, all on the off chance that it could be the vampire.

“What do you think of the plan?” Derek asked, his eyes resting on Stiles as he waited for an answer.

“You’re going to give me a say?” Stiles softly asked, looking up at Derek.

“In the end, it’s your call,” Derek replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’d be safer with us around, you know that.”

Stiles nodded. “I don’t want you guys getting hurt because of me,” he finally admitted, his gaze scanning the others.

“And we don’t want you getting hurt, period,” Lydia countered. “We’re all worried about you, Stiles.”

“Allison and Chris are even planning a trip back from France,” Isaac replied.

Stiles released a sigh. “That’s not …”

Derek turned to look at the others, gesturing towards the sliding doors that lead to the Stilinski’s back porch.

Erica, Boyd, and Isaac wordlessly followed their Alpha’s command, slipping out of their resting spots as they filed out of the house. Lydia sighed, grabbing Scott by the arm as she dragged him behind her, knowing he would argue against leaving. Kira smiled at Stiles, gently touching her hand to his shoulder as she made her way out of the kitchen, pushing Scott to follow after Lydia. The Sheriff hugged Stiles tightly, placing a gentle hand at the back of his head.

Stiles hugged his dad, almost unwilling to let him go when he realized he was going to get the inevitable life and death talk from Derek. He released his hold on his dad, giving him a faint smile as he watched him go.

The Sheriff placed a comforting hand on Derek’s shoulder as he passed him, a small squeeze of reassurance and affirmation that he trusted Derek with Stiles.

Stiles didn’t miss the small look of admiration and pride in Derek’s eyes when he looked after the Sheriff’s retreating form.

“He trusts you,” Stiles faintly stated when they were finally both alone.

“I know,” Derek replied, looking at Stiles. “You’re the most important thing to him. Entrusting me with his son’s safety is the highest form of trust John can give.”

Stiles nodded, his chest flooding with warmth, hearing the affirmation that his father loves him. “You call my dad John,” he commented. “You sound like old buddies.”

“We work together,” Derek offered.

“Next thing I know, you’re going to be telling me that you go fishing,” Stiles softly stated with a small smirk as he looked at Derek. His features widened when Derek only cleared his throat. “You go fishing with my dad?” He asked in surprise.

“We both enjoy fishing, Stiles, that’s not a shocking thing,” Derek countered, shuffling his weight some in agitation.

“I’m not … I’m not mad or anything,” Stiles offered. “I’m just surprised. I thought after we broke up that it kind of,” he shrugged at a lost for words. “Fucked it all up.”

Derek silently nodded, knowing exactly what Stiles was talking about.

“Seriously, though,” Stiles started. “I’m actually … happy that you both have a friend.”

“Thanks, Stiles,” Derek deadpanned.

“You know what I mean, Derek,” Stiles countered.

Derek nodded, knowing that Stiles was worried for them both.

Stiles looked down at his feet as he toed at the scuffmarks in the tiles.

“If you don’t want to live in the loft with me, I get it,” Derek easily stated, interpreting Stiles’ silence as hesitance. “It will bring back memories, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable—”

“I’m just scared, Derek,” Stiles tiredly answered. “And I don’t want you getting hurt. You always let yourself get hurt if you think it will end better that way.”

Derek was about to argue before he realized that Stiles had a point and he couldn’t really argue against it. He had a track record of flinging himself into bodily danger when the pack needed him to.

“And I understand that you do that because of everything that happened with the fire,” Stiles cautiously stated. He knew he was the only one Derek even dared open up to about it when the pyromaniac faeries came blazing through the Preserve over a year ago—when Derek clammed up when he saw the fires. “But whatever this thing is, it clearly wants me.”

“And it’s going to have to settle for reality,” Derek countered. “I’m not letting that thing touch you again.”

Stiles looked at Derek, knowing he was sincere in his promise. “So, we’re going to try and keep me under close surveillance and hope this thing shows up?”

Derek looked at Stiles, his eyes turning towards the bandage that covered his stitches. “It’s going to have to renew its mark,” he honestly stated. “It tried …” His expression became pinched, as if he was trying to find a different set of words to explain their scenario. “You weren’t a willing recipient of its bonding bite,” he finally admitted. “It’s going to have to keep renewing it because your magic is going to work against it.”

“So it’s just going to keep doing it until I accept it,” Stiles softly uttered.

“Yes,” Derek solemnly confirmed.

“And if I never accept it?” Stiles asked.

Derek frowned at that. “It might kill you.”

Stiles shook his head. A silence fell between them. “This is nothing like _Twilight_.”

“Werewolves and a vampire,” Derek countered. “You’d make a pretty convincing Bella.”

“Please stop talking,” Stiles groaned, a soft laugh in his voice when he noticed the small smile on Derek’s lips.

~*~

Stiles found himself sleeping soundly now that he knew someone was with him at all times. If Derek wasn’t home, one of the pack would hang out in the loft. He pretended not to notice, as if their presence was a welcomed surprise opposed to the sad reality it reminded him of. He would spend most of his time reading a book or messing around on the Internet. He sometimes found it in himself to sit by the large windows in the loft, convinced that nothing could see him up this high.

The wound on Stiles’ neck had healed, the stitches being taken out faster than he thought. He idly ran his hand over the healing scar, his fingertips tracing the scars. He was glad that the scars were fading now that the stitches were gone. He still felt uneasy whenever he touched it, as if he could feel a connection to something trying to pull him in.

It had been over a month since the last attack, and Stiles was finally feeling a relative calm of normalcy. He was so sure having the pack in the bookstore helped—that Erica and Peter could detect the monster before it struck.

Stiles was in the back stockroom, taking inventory of the different books they had to fill the displays in the windows. He checked different boxes, humming lightly to himself as he took the needed notes.

A sudden uneasiness settled in Stiles’ stomach, as if something was standing behind him. He kept himself facing forward, hoping that it was just his imagination. He startled when a box fell off the shelf behind him. He backed away from the box, staring in horror at the inanimate object. He looked around, noticing how vacant the room was—how its small size offered few hiding spaces.

“Peter?” Stiles called out, hoping the older Hale heard him. He didn’t care if Peter made fun of him—Derek told him to tell the pack if he felt uneasy. Fear started to grip him when Peter never answered his call. “Peter!” He loudly stated, knowing that even a human in the bookstore could hear him.

Still nothing.

Stiles dropped his clipboard, rushing out of the stockroom, leaping over the fallen box as he hurried out of the hidden room. He was terrified at how empty the store was, his gaze looking to where Peter had been sitting the last he saw of him. He walked over to the café part, seeing the table Peter had set himself up at.

A cup of black coffee was settled next to a worn copy of _Wuthering Heights_.

Stiles reached a hand out to touch the mug of Peter’s coffee, noticing that it was still warm. He whirled around, ready to yell for someone when he saw Kira cleaning the espresso machine.

Kira looked up at Stiles, smiling at him despite the noise of the hot water’s pressure. “Are you okay?” She curiously asked when she saw that Stiles wasn’t returning her smile. She stopped the machine, setting the metal funnel down.

“Where is Peter?” Stiles quickly asked.

“He went to check on Erica,” Kira stated. “She brought the trash outback.”

Stiles turned to look at the door that lead outback. “How long have they been out there?”

“Only a minute or two,” Kira softly stated, curiously looking at Stiles. “Are you okay?”

Stiles barely nodded as he headed towards the door leading out to the alleyway, where the dumpsters were.

“Stiles, I’m sure—”

A blackness fell over Stiles. He could barely remember the faint feeling of a hand grabbing the back of his neck, sharp nails digging into his flesh as his hand touched the door to the alleyway. He remembered seeing through the sliver of space the door had moved, seeing the corner of the dumpster, and a pair of high heels he knew to be Erica’s.

When Stiles woke, Kira was leaning over him, her hands softly cupping his face.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Kira tearfully asked, her thumb gently stroking his cheek.

“What … what happened?” Stiles asked, a sharp and throbbing pain in his neck suddenly started to radiate when he tried to move.

“A fucking vampire,” Peter growled out, holding his stomach as he put pressure on the healing wound.

“Erica?” Stiles started, trying to move. He released a soft cry when the pain increased from his attempts to look around.

“I’m here, Batman,” Erica stated, moving to sit next to him. She placed a well-manicured hand on his chest, forcing him to rest his head back into Kira’s lap. “That fucker attacked us out of nowhere,” she explained, looking at Peter. “He nearly disemboweled Peter.”

“I’ve had worse,” Peter replied. “I can imagine that Derek isn’t going to be too happy about all this.”

“I’m not,” Derek snapped as he slammed open the door to the shop. He paused as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles tried to wave a nonchalant hand at Derek. “It’s not bad … I don’t think.”

“What happened?” Derek growled at Peter.

“In my defense, I went to investigate what happened to Erica when she didn’t come back inside,” Peter stated. “And this is what I got for my troubles,” he gestured to the wound in his stomach.

Derek silently looked at Erica.

Erica looked up at Derek. “He attacked me from behind, and I was out before I realized he was there.”

“You didn’t hear him?” Stiles faintly asked, dreading the answer.

Erica frowned, sensing Stiles’ fear.

“He didn’t make a sound,” Peter firmly stated. He looked at Derek. “He’s an old vampire. He can mask his scent, and practically disappear while right in front of us.”

“He came out of nowhere,” Kira offered. “I was walking behind Stiles and then he was just … _there_. It was like he was already behind Stiles, but I was just seeing him.”

Stiles closed his eyes trying to ignore the terror building in his gut.

“Please tell me you called that ambulance,” Peter partially grunted in pain as he started to recline on the floor.

“Stiles should be okay until they get here,” Kira offered as she looked at the wound in Stiles’ neck.

“Peter’s not,” Derek suddenly stated as he moved to kneel next to his uncle. “You’re not healing,” he noted.

Peter winced slightly. “I think I’m dying,” he lightly stated, a faint tinge of amusement in his voice as he looked at Derek. “That’s a new feeling,” he sarcastically commented.

Derek took a hold of Peter’s arm, draining some of his pain away.

“I appreciate the gesture, but that won’t heal me,” Peter uttered, a cough sneaking its way up. “That vampire is old,” he roughly stated, his muscles sagging some. He looked at Derek. “You get the chance, you tear the thing’s head off—don’t try and be diplomatic about it.”

Derek stared at Peter.

“You’re not crossing the line by protecting what’s yours,” Peter explained. “Even your mother did that.”

Derek lightly nodded his head in agreement, knowing Peter was right.

~*~

The Sheriff was waiting for them when the ambulance arrived at the hospital.

Stiles tried to calm his father when the fretting started. He couldn’t look at his father as the nurse stitched up his neck. He offered the faintest shake of his head when one of the deputies questioned him about what happened.

“So, you saw no one?” Jason questioned, sounding as if he disbelieved Stiles.

“He came up behind me,” Stiles offered. “Knocked me unconscious afterwards.”

“You know it was a man?” Jason asked.

“Peter said it was, before he passed out,” Stiles replied. “I don’t— I don’t really remember.”

“That’s enough for now,” the Sheriff stated, moving to stand beside Stiles.

Jason looked as if he was about to protest, looking at the Sheriff. He sighed, closing his mouth and silencing his objection.

John waited until he was alone with Stiles. “Is that honestly what happened?”

Stiles looked at his dad.

“You didn’t even see him?” John elaborated.

“I felt … something nearby,” Stiles offered. “And when I went out to check on Peter and Erica, I suddenly remember waking up in the bookstore.”

John frowned at that. “Even with the pack around—”

“Derek wasn’t,” Stiles answered. He waited for his dad to look at him. “This vampire has to be afraid of Derek. I can’t feel any presence when I’m in the loft. Even when I was at Deaton’s with Derek—I think it’s keeping its distance because it knows Derek can’t be easily defeated.”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “Then you should stay within Derek’s reach.”

“Dad,” Stiles started in exasperation.

“Derek already said this,” John countered before Stiles could argue. “He’s worried about you too, you know.”

“I’d rather not unpack that right now, dad,” Stiles replied.

“Whatever happened between you two, happened,” John started, his tone even and calm—as if he had thought about this before. “I never said anything because you’re both adults, and it was none of my business. But I’m not going to lie and say that Derek doesn’t care about you.”

Stiles looked at his dad. “He doesn’t care about me like that,” he weakly stated.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, kid,” John replied.

Stiles shook his head, knowing that his dad wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t sure he even understood it all, their last fight being so final—it almost fizzled out in the end instead of the explosive finale he had expected it to be.

The pack waited for Derek in the hospital’s waiting room, knowing he was going to be some time when Melissa asked Derek about being a match for Peter’s blood type. The Sheriff waited with Stiles, not wanting to leave him alone, even with the pack.

Derek peeled the tape from the soft curve of his arm, tearing the gauze the nurse placed there from his skin. He didn’t bother telling her she didn’t have to—the small prickling of healing skin reminded him of his failings once again. He was unable to keep his promise to John, resulting in Stiles being attacked in near broad daylight, in public.

Erica looked up when she sensed Derek walking down the hallway towards them. She was the first to stand, her stride being quick and determined. She halted in front of Derek, unable to look him in the eye as she turned her head to the side, offering up her neck.

Derek released his hold on his arm, observing Erica carefully.

“I fucked up,” Erica simply stated, her brows crinkling. “You trusted me to keep him safe, and I … I failed.”

Derek released a heavy sigh, finally shaking his head. He reached for Erica, his hand moving to settle on the back of her neck. His grip was sure, a positive weight that could steer Erica how he wanted. “It’s not your fault,” he softly stated.

Erica’s eyes watered, wanting to believe him.

Derek pulled her into a hug, guiding her head to rest against the curve of his shoulder.

Erica reacted immediately, practically curling in against Derek.

It looked like an intimate display, leaving someone passing by to assume they were a couple. But it was much more than that. It was an Alpha comforting their packmate, reaffirming their faith and trust in one another.

Derek looked above Erica’s head, catching sight of Stiles through Erica’s golden curls. He saw how Stiles looked sunken—miserable. He knew Erica wasn’t the only one blaming themself. But he wasn’t going to scare Stiles more now that the unthinkable happened.

Erica had been Derek’s Beta the longest, and she was often the most critical of herself for any failings she found in herself. She thought she should have been able to keep Stiles safe, despite the threat.

This reaffirmed what Derek feared. Whatever the creature was, it immobilized an Alpha’s strongest Beta in a few seconds. It wounded Peter beyond the point of healing. It attacked Stiles in broad daylight.

The creature was getting bold, agitated by the longer he went without Stiles.

It wasn’t until John pulled Derek aside, waiting for the others to be distracted with their small conversations, that Derek realized Stiles was in more danger than they thought.

John produced an evidence bag, holding it out for Derek to look at.

Derek took the bag, his gaze briefly looking to Stiles to make sure he wasn’t looking. He turned the bag in his hands, realizing it held a rose with a black ribbon tied around it in a bow.

“Whatever this thing is, it keeps leaving those,” the Sheriff stated in a hushed tone as he turned to look at Stiles. “Derek, what the hell is happening?”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t know,” he honestly answered. “Peter had thought he was on to something. He thought …” He didn’t want to say it.

“I think I deserve to know,” the Sheriff pushed, sensing Derek’s hesitance.

“It’s courting Stiles,” Derek stated, looking up at the Sheriff. “Like we said earlier, Peter thinks it’s a vampire—an old one that thinks Stiles is someone else. Someone it lost a long time ago.”

“What does it want?” John pressed.

Derek looked at John, a frown pulling at his features. “It’s not going to stop until it takes Stiles with it. It’s growing bolder, and before long, it’s going to truly act out.”

“Is it going to try and turn him?” John asked, wishing to know the reality.

“I’m not sure,” Derek honestly answered. “It had dozens of opportunities to turn Stiles but … ” He shook his head. “It’s keeping Stiles human for a reason.”

“So it’s going to keep harassing him until it can get him to itself?” John concluded.

“Or until we kill it,” Derek stated. He looked at John. “And I plan on killing it, John.”

~*~

Stiles had been surprised to find his father at the loft a little more than a week after the attack. He had taken a shower, in the middle of walking down the spiral staircase and drying his hair off with a towel when he paused on the last step upon hearing his father’s voice. He looked through the towel, seeing his dad standing at the loft’s entrance, a large smile on the man’s face.

“I wanted to congratulate you in person, son,” John explained to Derek, handing him an envelope.

Derek looked as if he was afraid of the envelope. In truth, he was uncertain if it was something he could truly be holding.

“I can say, as the Sheriff, I’ve seen the results,” John stated, offering Derek an encouraging smile when he looked at him. “And it’s a good answer.”

“What’s a good answer?” Stiles asked, finally announcing himself.

Derek turned to look at Stiles. “Nothing important,” he reluctantly answered.

John scoffed at that. “You’re modest.”

Derek ran his thumb along the envelope’s crease, hesitating.

“Derek, open it,” Stiles urged, confused about what he was witnessing.

“It’s just my test scores,” Derek replied, looking at Stiles.

Stiles looked at his dad when Derek didn’t offer anything more.

John sighed, knowing that Derek was going to feel guilty about it. “He passed his deputy’s exam,” he explained to Stiles.

“Really?” Stiles stated in surprise, resting the towel over his neck. “Derek, that’s great!” He excited stated as he ran over to Derek, wrapping his arms around him. “I didn’t know you tried.”

Derek didn’t answer Stiles’ statement, merely wrapping one arm around Stiles’ waist in reciprocation. “Studying was a distraction,” he offered.

Stiles pulled back from Derek, taking a long look at him.

“Well, we should celebrate, huh?” John interjected, trying to keep both of them from falling into awkwardness.

“Yeah,” Stiles stated with a smile before looking at his dad. “But no fries,” he stated, pointing a finger at John.

“Can we at least have steak?” John asked, thinking he could get away with it.

Stiles’ lips twisted together.

~*~

“What about steak?” Stiles asked as he leaned over the small freezer. He was scanning the prices and dates, trying to determine if it was worth the cost.

“I thought you said no steak,” Derek replied as he move to stand beside Stiles, leaning to look at what Stiles was gawking at.

“I mean, for my dad, no,” Stiles softly smiled, looking at Derek. “But I can’t say no to steak some times.”

“Your dad would find it refreshing if you let him have steak,” Derek replied.

Stiles thoughtfully nodded. “He’d eat it cold, even,” he commented.

Derek waited for Stiles to get the right steak. “I’ll go grab the salad stuff,” he commented, taking it upon himself to hurry their little grocery side trip along.

“Okay,” Stiles answered. He turned his head towards Derek’s retreating form. “Don’t forget—”

“The onion, I know, Stiles,” Derek quickly replied without looking back at Stiles.

Stiles smiled to himself as he went back to the steaks. He was content with the two large portions he picked out, knowing that he could cut them in half to portions fit for them. He wrapped the bloodied meat in the plastic bags, setting them down in the cart next to the cream and yogurt. He started to push his cart without looking, coming to a frightening halt when he almost ran into another cart.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles quickly apologized. “I’m a klutz and don’t look where I’m going—” he started to explain, stopping himself when he caught sight of who it was.

“That’s okay, Stiles,” Jason faintly laughed. “I think everyone at the station is used to it.”

Stiles tightened his hold on the cart’s handle. “Yeah, I guess,” he replied. He hunched his shoulders some, trying to force his sweatshirt’s collar to cover his bandage.

“Celebrating something?” Jason asked, taking a look at the contents in Stiles’ cart.

Stiles felt something uneasy settle in his gut, not liking how Jason always pressed one step too far. “Kind of,” he answered, looking over at the aisle leading to the produce section. “I have a few things to grab before my dad gets home for dinner,” he dismissively stated. “Nice seeing you,” he flatly added, pushing the cart to make his get away.

Jason reached a hand out to touch Stiles’ shoulder, stopping him from walking away. “Hold on, Stiles.”

Stiles jerked his shoulder away from Jason’s hand. “What are you doing?”

Jason looked slightly taken aback that Stiles reacted in such a manner. “I just wanted to make sure that you’re safe.”

Stiles stared at Jason, unsure what he was saying.

“After the report filed with the hospital,” Jason explained, gesturing at the bandage on Stiles’ neck. “People have been talking around town, you know?”

“I’m the Sheriff’s kid,” Stiles sharply countered. “People always talk about me.”

“Well, you and Hale,” Jason corrected Stiles.

Stiles glared at Jason. “I wouldn’t finish whatever you were about to say, Deputy Mandel.”

Jason shifted his weight. “You know everyone talks about Hale, and when he started hanging out with his ex, just before said ex ends up in the hospital—”

“You think Derek _bit_ me?” Stiles incredulously demanded, knowing that it sounded insane to anyone listening when they didn’t know about Derek’s lycanthropy. “You’re insane.”

“It’s making the rounds,” Jason answered Stiles’ skeptical words.

“I think you’re too concerned with my personal life, Deputy,” Stiles sharply uttered. “I appreciate my father’s deputies keeping an eye out for me, but this is crossing a line.”

“Hale is dangerous,” Jason ignored Stiles’ previous stated.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice broke the moment.

Stiles looked up to see Derek coming back with a handful of groceries to set in the cart. He pushed the cart over to Derek, placing some room between himself and Jason. “I think we should get going,” he quickly stated to Derek, knowing that Derek was staring above his head to glare at Jason.

“Stiles,” Derek stated again.

“Derek, leave it,” Stiles answered. “I handled it.” He kept Derek’s gaze, waiting for him to accept it.

Derek finally nodded in agreement, setting the last of the groceries in the cart.

Stiles was glad that Derek followed after him. He didn’t, however, see that Derek left a lingering glare with Jason.

~*~

Stiles could feel eyes on him all day. He couldn’t explain it, just the constant feeling of never being alone. He had wondered when Derek was going to be back from the station, a little put off when he realized that he’d be alone for the day. He had promised to call Derek or one of the pack the second he felt something off. He had made plans to visit Peter in the hospital, only stopping by the bookstore for a quick minute to check on things.

Stiles paused when he thought he heard footsteps echoing further down the street—down the alleyway he was about to pass by. He stared at the entrance, never before recalling having felt bothered by the location. He now saw the potential harm it posed—how secluded and shadowed it was.

Stiles quickly hustled by the entrance, making his way over to his Jeep. He was close to calling the pack, even knowing that he was likely letting his imagination get the better of him. He fished for his phone in his pocket as he pulled on the door handle to the Jeep. He was frozen with fear when a hand suddenly reached out and covered his, his movement to open the door stilled by the calm gesture. He wanted to scream, to tear his body away from the cold he felt pressing against his back. His hand reluctantly fell away from the door handle, obeying the stranger’s movements.

“You’re safe,” a calm voice nearly whispered in his ear. “You’re no longer their prisoner, _cuore mio_.” Fingertips brushed along Stiles’ neck, fingers running through his hair as an arm wrapped around Stiles’ waist.

Stiles’ mind was fuzzy, the stranger’s voice putting him into a muted calm. He couldn’t yell, despite his efforts to try. He tried to move away from the stranger, only to be limply pulled back into their embrace.

Stiles suddenly fell forward against the Jeep when an abrupt force jostled him. His body landed against the metal door, his hands pressing against the glass of the window. His mind was suddenly clear of whatever spell enraptured him. He leaned back, craning his neck in order to see what happened. He stared at the blackened figures struggled in the shadow of the street. He knew one of them was Derek when he saw the flare of red eyes glowing through the darkness.

Derek got the upper hand, easily slamming the struggling figure into the bricks of the building just off the curb. He released the roar of an angered Alpha, one determined to tear apart whatever it managed to get its claws into. His claws tore into the shadowy figure’s chest as he held the man pinned there.

Stiles caught sight of the man’s clothing, seeing how old and tattered they appeared. He noted the man’s hair, how long its silvery locks were even when tied back. He was determined to memorize every little detail he could, an attempt to avoid interactions with anyone sporting any similarity.

“You won’t keep us apart,” the man practically hissed as he remained still in Derek’s grasp.

“You won’t _touch him_ ever again,” Derek snapped, his fangs bared as he pressed the man against the bricks with a greater force. “He’s my emissary, not your blood bag.”

The man’s eyes flickered, shining brightly in the darkness. “You’re an animal,” the man furiously stated. “You don’t deserve to share the air he breathes,” he hissed between what appeared to be his own fangs.

Stiles turned his head to the side when he heard the beep of someone’s car unlocking. “Derek,” he quickly uttered. “Derek, someone’s coming.”

Derek didn’t flinch, his hold on the man only tightening instead.

“Derek,” Stiles urgently hissed when footsteps drew closer.

The man saw his opportunity when Derek barely turned his attention to Stiles. He lashed out, catching Derek off guard. Before he could disappear into a cloud of shadowy smoke, Derek’s claws dug deep into his side in an attempt to keep him from fleeing.

Derek staggered some, turning around to try and find the man. Blood dripped from his clawed hand, and he knew that he managed to injure the creature.

Stiles grabbed Derek, pulling him away from the wall and towards the Jeep. He pulled Derek close, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck to disguise the commotion as nothing more than a lovers’ tryst.

Derek pressed his hands against the Jeep, his shoulders rigid as he kept from touching Stiles. He pressed his nose into the curve of Stiles’ shoulder, giving himself this much as he breathed in Stiles’ scent. His chest puffed out, a werewolf’s instinct telling him that he won—he protected what was his, and now he could bask in it.

“How did you know?” Stiles softly asked as he pressed his mouth against the line of Derek’s shoulder.

Derek slotted his body against Stiles’, wanting to keep them as close as possible. He closed his eyes as he debated telling Stiles the truth. He determined that Stiles deserved at least that. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you,” he answered, his arm curling around Stiles’ waist to pull him in closer.

Their moment was short lived, Stiles casting Derek away as soon as the person drove away.

Stiles turned away from Derek, releasing an aggravated sigh.

“Stiles,” Derek started.

“You asshole,” Stiles snapped at Derek, turning and shoving his hands against Derek’s chest when he realized Derek was taking a step towards him. “You told me you were at the station filling out paperwork for your job! You _used_ me to lore him out!”

“Stiles,” Derek tried again.

“No!” Stiles snapped, pointing his finger at Derek. “You stalked me—like he was doing!”

“That’s not what happened,” Derek earnestly argued.

“All day,” Stiles unsteadily panted. “You’ve been stalking me all day, and I felt it. I was scared out of my mind!”

“Not enough for you to call one of us,” Derek reprimanded.

“Fuck you,” Stiles answered, turning on his heel.

“Stiles,” Derek heavily sighed, exasperated with Stiles’ response—and his own actions.

“Leave me alone, Derek,” Stiles loudly stated. “Just leave me alone!” He restated as he climbed into the Jeep, slamming the door before speeding off.

Derek lowly cursed, punching his fist into the brick.

~*~

Stiles wiped the tears away. He wasn’t sure who he was angrier with—Derek or himself. He hurried into his dad’s house, determined to lock out all supernatural business for the remainder of the day. He was half way up the stairs when music suddenly started to play from his bedroom.

Stiles froze when he heard the familiar human howl before the music started. The CD was one of the joke mixes he made to give to the pack as a gag gift—cliché songs about werewolves. _Li’l Red Riding Hood_ was the first song on the list, and for the first time, Sam the Sham’s voice scared Stiles more than anything.

Stiles pulled his phone out of his pocket, his hands trembling as he dialed Derek’s number. He startled when he heard the floorboards in his bedroom yawn under the weight of someone’s steps. He took a hesitant step backwards, wondering if he had time to run for the door.

“Don’t,” the man’s voice commanded.

A heat pulsed through Stiles’ body. It was a foreign feeling, as if Stiles felt obligated to follow after the voice. It was the same feeling he had by the Jeep when the vampire touched him.

“Come upstairs.”

Stiles’ mind screamed at him to run, to ignore the voice and escape the house. Tears collected in his eyes as he started to ascend the steps, getting closer and closer to his bedroom. His body just wouldn’t listen to his mind.

Stiles hovered in the doorway to his bedroom, laying eyes on the owner of the voice—the man from earlier. He stood frozen to his spot, forced to listen to the music playing out over his stereo. He was scared.

“Come closer,” the man ordered, his gaze focused on the wound at his side. He only regarded Stiles when he realized Stiles hadn’t obeyed him to enter the room. “I said—‘ _Come closer_ ’.” The words were sharper this time, his annoyance at being disobeyed was evident.

Stiles’ feet moved to appease the command. Stiles was happy that he managed to reach a hand out to his bureau, pulling himself to a halt. He wanted to know that the door was still a close exit.

“Close the door,” the man ordered.

Stiles reached a trembling hand out, pressing the door shut despite his efforts to keep it open. Tears stung the back of his throat.

The man noticed that Stiles only moved a little bit. He snarled something in a foreign language. “I’m your guest, and you act like this,” he bit out.

“I … I never invited you in,” Stiles countered, hoping his words didn’t wobble with fear.

“You’re running with wolves,” the man solemnly stated. “Dogs,” he uttered with disdain. “It explains your sudden lack of manners.” He hand pressed against his side, covering the wound Derek’s claws had made. “You reek like him, more and more. I _had_ to renew my mark when he had his animals surrounding you.”

Stiles remained silent, hoping that Derek was listening through the call. He prayed it wasn’t going to take Derek long to reach him. He felt stupid for thinking he could go home and be safe—for yelling at Derek out of frustration.

“You’re acting afraid,” the man noted, his gaze observing Stiles.

“You’re scaring me,” Stiles answered, his voice wavering as he kept his distance from the man.

“How can you say that?” The man nearly demanded, his pale eyes flashing in a reflective manner, like mirrors catching light. “You said you loved me, Marcello—only me.”

Stiles took a step back, colliding with the door jam when the man suddenly stood from the bed. “I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t say that,” the man growled.

“It won’t change the truth,” Stiles countered. “I— I don’t know you.”

The man lashed out, his arm easily flipping the desk beside Stiles’ bed with an untold strength.

Stiles flinched away, pressing against the door to get as far away from the man as possible.

“Stop saying that,” the man seethed. “It’s been too long for your mind to remain intact—you just need time.”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m not this Marcello,” he dared to utter.

The man was suddenly on Stiles, pressing into his space as he pinned Stiles against the door. His hands grabbed Stiles by the shoulders, claws digging down into his soft human flesh.

“You’re hurting me,” Stiles nearly whimpered, not knowing what to do as he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look at the man anymore—he didn’t want to remember whatever it was the man wanted him to.

“Open your eyes and look at me, Marcello,” the man demanded through a growl. “Look at me,” he snapped in a low, dangerous voice.

Stiles slowly opened his eyes, looking at the man. He stared into his eyes, catching the sadness that lingered there among the rage.

“They made me watch you burn,” the man uttered. “They laughed as I screamed my lungs out, trying to get to you. They— they violated you before strapping you to that stake— burning away your flesh as you cried in agony.” He drew in a deep breath. “I killed them— their families—wives and children. I tore them apart, but it didn’t bring you back.” He shook his head. “My grief was my only companion, and one day, I grew tired of it all. So I fell into a slumber, not knowing what else to do but wait for the pain to disappear.” He reached a hand up, fingertips caressing Stiles’ face in a loving manner. “And then I woke up, and here you are. You came back to me, like you promised you would.”

Stiles tried to shake his head, only to have the iron like fingertips squeeze in a bruising grip. “Please,” he softly begged. “I’m not Marcello— I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name.”

“William,” the man forcefully uttered, as if he was struggling with holding himself back. “You called me by my peasant name.” His fingertips traced along Stiles’ lips, his gaze following the action as if he was recalling a memory. “Say my name,” he whispered in a breath against Stiles’ lips, pressing his body against Stiles’ rigid one. “I need to hear you saying it again, Marcello. It’s been too long.”

“Please,” Stiles begged with hot tears burning his eyes as fear gripped him.

“Just once is enough,” William pressed.

Stiles’ lip trembled, wishing he could hear if Derek was close enough. He knew he couldn’t get away from William, the strength that held him pressed against the door was more than he could hope to fight. “William, please.”

William moved his lips in to press against Stiles’ own.

Stiles remained rigid, hoping it would be over soon.

William pulled back from Stiles’ lips, shaking his head in reprimand. “Not like that,” he darkly chastised. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

Stiles didn’t get a chance to answer, terrified when William kissed him again.

William held Stiles’ face in the palms of his hands as he took what he wanted. He opened into the kiss, his tongue licking into Stiles’ mouth. He lost himself in Stiles, even swallowing down the soft whimper that emitted from him.

Stiles closed his eyes, praying for it to be over quickly as William took what he wanted—afraid his resistance would only anger the stranger.

“Stiles?” The Sheriff’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you home, kiddo?”

Stiles winced when William bit down on his lip, a sharp pain being left in the wake of William’s fangs. A small drip of blood fell from his lip.

The Sheriff’s footsteps grew closer as he walked up the stairs, slow and paced as if he was unaware of what was happening.

William reached a hand up to grab Stiles’ face, holding his jaw clamped tight as his eyes glowed a cold, steely blue. He looked at the wall that blocked his view to the staircase, completely aware of the Sheriff’s location.

“If he tries to take you away again, I’ll kill him,” William calmly stated as he looked at Stiles. “He won’t stop us from being together.”

Stiles closed his eyes, terrified that William was going to break from him to attack his father.

A loud growl boomed from the corner of the room, a ferocious roar of anger cracked through the silence, and William was torn away from Stiles.

“Stiles!” The Sheriff yelled as he ran through the hallway, throwing open the door to Stiles’ bedroom. He stuttered to a stop when he saw the large lupine humanoid fighting with a tall slender man he’d never seen before. He realized the animal was Derek. He grabbed Stiles, pulling his son out of the room as Derek slammed William through the headboard, crashing through the wall.

“Derek!” Stiles yelled when he heard Derek released a pained grunt while staggering some when William’s claws sliced through his stomach.

Derek’s fangs clamped down on William’s arm and reefed on the limb. He acted like a dog that just found its new chew toy.

John pulled Stiles up against his chest, backing them out of the room and into the hallway in order to avoid getting harmed.

There was another loud crash before the sound of the window shattering was followed by an eerie silence.

Stiles pushed away from his dad, hearing the faint panting coming from the room. He paused by the doorframe, daring to look into the room. He relaxed some when he confirmed that it was Derek standing there still. “Derek,” he softly stated, taking a step through the debris scattered among his destroyed room.

Derek was still shifted in his Alpha form, panting heavily in agitation as he practically paced by the window.

Derek’s Alpha form was larger than his wolf shift. He looked like a wolf that figured out how to stand like a human. His skin was covered in a dark pelt—fur as black as the night. He was easily a foot or two taller than he normally was, his shoulders suddenly twice as broad to make room for his bulked muscles. There was red smeared across his muzzle, his fangs dripping with blood. His chest rose and fell in anger as he stared out the window William had escaped out of.

Stiles looked down at where he was stepping, halting when he saw a torn off limb discarded to the ground. He realized it was William’s arm. “Derek,” he softly called to him, taking a step away from the arm and turning his attention to Derek.

Derek immediately turned his head to look at Stiles. He took a step towards Stiles, halting when he realized he was still shifted.

“Derek, it’s okay,” Stiles started, taking a step towards him. He remembered Deaton explaining the problems that could arise from using the Alpha form. He had known Peter didn’t care about the side effects, almost embracing the carnage and bloodlust that accompanied the form—even if it meant risking the loss of one’s humanity.

But Derek was afraid of it—he was scared he’d become like his uncle, and kill regardless of who it was. He was afraid his anchor would melt away and he’d remain a beast.

And Stiles knew Derek never shifted into his Alpha form because of it.

Stiles reached out to Derek, his hand barely touching Derek’s chest when the Alpha reacted. He wasn’t scared when Derek pulled him in close, enveloped by the strong embrace. He allowed Derek to nuzzle his neck, barely caring about the blood he knew was smearing on his clothes. He threaded his fingers through Derek’s fur when Derek released a whine.

“It’s okay,” Stiles repeated. “I’m okay,” he hesitantly corrected himself. He opened his eyes when he felt Derek shifting back into human form, feeling the muscles and bones bending and popping back into human form as the fur disappeared.

“He got away,” Derek roughly stated, his voice hoarse as he turned to look back out the window, his arms still around Stiles.

“You tore his arm off,” Stiles replied. “It’s going to take him a while before he can do anything,” he explained.

“And we’ll be ready for him,” Derek answered, his hold on Stiles still solid and unwavering.

~*~

The shower had been hotter than it should have been, but Stiles wanted to wash away William’s touch. He felt violated, now having a face to connect the assaults with. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way William looked at him, the way he kissed him as if it was natural. He vomited after getting out of the shower, his stomach souring with thoughts of being bound to William’s side for life.

Stiles pulled on a change of clothes, throwing away his old ones. He spared a parting look at the heap of clothes, catching sight of the blood staining them from when Derek embraced him. It bothered him more that they stunk of William, knowing they had when Derek crinkled his nose at them.

Stiles hurried down the stairs, determined to not be alone for longer than necessary. He rolled his sleeves up, fiddling with the material to distract himself from what had happened. He paused in the doorway to the kitchen when he saw his dad inspecting Derek’s side.

Derek was looking at Stiles, as if he had been waiting to see him to enter the kitchen. “It’s fine,” he stated before Stiles could even inquire about it.

“It’s healing,” John commented as he finished disinfecting the claw marks. He stood as he reached for the first aid kit, prepared to place the necessary gauze on it, when he realized Stiles was standing there.

“I knew he hit you, but …” Stiles’ voice trailed off as he looked to his dad.

“I’m healing, Stiles,” Derek firmly stated. “Just slower than usual,” he added when Stiles just stared at him.

“So you heal like a Beta should, and a Beta … doesn’t?” Stiles asked.

“It would appear so,” John stated as he finished taping the gauze over Derek’s wound.

Derek pulled his shirt down to cover the wound and gauze from sight. He moved to stand, turning his attention towards John. “I’m sorry about the wall,” he offered. “It’s harder for me to control my anger when shifted in that form.”

John waved his hand, as if the wall was a minor inconvenience. “You saved Stiles from that monster. Having to plaster a wall is the least of my worries.”

Derek nodded, turning his attention to Stiles. “How are you doing?”

“Okay,” Stiles faintly offered, an uncertainty in his voice. “I’m … I’m sorry I went off on my own.”

“You what?” John nearly snapped as he incredulously looked at Stiles. “You went off on your own after what happened in the bookstore?” He demanded to know.

Stiles closed his eyes, releasing a heavy sigh. He knew he deserved it on some level, but he had been angry and not thinking rationally.

“I followed him without telling him,” Derek explained to John, his gaze still on Stiles. “I shouldn’t have done it—but I didn’t know he’d be able to sense me around him.”

“That doesn’t—”

“I nearly gave him a panic attack, John,” Derek finally stated.

Stiles looked up at Derek.

“I didn’t know our bond was still this strong,” Derek reluctantly stated. He shifted his weight, as if he was wading into a topic he wanted to avoid. “I can sense where Stiles is by following his scent, and tracking his spark. Usually years into establishing packbonds, an emissary can start to sense where their pack is—specifically their Alpha. An emissary’s magic flares and alerts them to it.”

“Is it because you two were closer before?” John asked, knowing he was touching a sensitive subject.

“It’s never been this active,” Stiles offered, knowing Derek didn’t want to talk about that on top of everything else.

Derek’s gaze fell over Stiles’ neck, looking at the wound William had left there a week ago. “Your magic is getting stronger, but it’s also confused. You’re part of the Hale pack, but you have another creature’s mark. That’s why you can sense this vampire when he’s near.”

“William,” Stiles uttered, the name feeling like bile on his tongue. “He said his name was William. And this Marcello … he was human, but villagers burned him at the stake. I think they made William watch him burn as a punishment of sorts. I don’t know,” he ran a hand through his hair, knowing that whatever William felt for Marcello was enough for him to be obsessed with someone that looked like him. “He also said something in another language … I think it was Italian.”

“We’ll have to do more research,” Derek concluded. “I’ll inform Allison of this.”

“She’s here?” Stiles asked in surprise.

“Chris and her got in last night,” Derek explained. “Lydia’s getting them up to speed with everything, and they’re cross referencing notes.”

“I have a meeting with Chris this afternoon,” John informed them. “He has some precautionary methods when dealing with vampires.”

Derek nodded.

John turned to Stiles. “And you’re not going out of my sight.”

“Dad—”

“I let the pack keep an eye on you, and this is what happened, Stiles,” John countered. “I came home to my son being assaulted in his bedroom.”

“I’ll stay with Derek,” Stiles reaffirmed. “I’ll make sure that I am never out of his sight. We already know that he can fight William.”

“That’s not the point, Stiles,” John argued.

“He’ll kill you,” Stiles snapped. He saw the anger fall from his father’s features. “He said he’d kill you if you try to meddle. And I’m sorry, dad, but you’re more human than me. I’m not going to risk that.”

“Stiles has a point,” Derek uttered before John could answer. “You should stay with Allison and Chris. Their apartment is probably one of the safest places in Beacon Hills at the moment.”

“I’m the Sheriff,” John countered. “I can’t just hide for days while some maniac is on the loose.”

“But you’re also my father,” Stiles firmly stated. “And I want you safe. Please, dad. I’ll take time off work and stay with Derek.”

John’s features twisted. “I don’t like it,” he stated. “But I understand it. I’ll work with Chris and Allison on this.”

Stiles hugged John, pressing his face into the crook of his father’s shoulder. He knew Derek could smell the fear in his scent, but he hoped he was putting on a brave enough face for his father.

~*~

Stiles waited until they were in the car, his gaze staring out the window as Derek drove them back to the loft. “William doesn’t like that I’ve been spending time with you,” he hollowly stated.

Derek gently pressed his foot against the brake as the light turned red. He looked at Stiles as the car idled at the light.

“He thinks I stink like you,” Stiles continued. He turned to look at Derek. “He’s not going to stop.”

Derek faintly nodded. “I know.”

Stiles looked back out the window. “I know it’s selfish but … Promise me you’ll kill him next time.”

“I’ll kill him next time,” Derek plainly promised, as if it was simplest thing decision to make. And maybe to Derek, it was a simple choice to make when it came to Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super excited to hear more of your thoughts, and what you think could happen next! We'll not only be exploring the origins of the vampire as well as Derek's and Stiles' break-up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo!
> 
> This chapter has a flashback to Derek and Stiles being broken up, it's right after Stiles and Derek have their first conversation about bite marks/bonds.
> 
> I like the way the story is progressing, and I'm glad that you all are enjoying it so far!

"That's ... not possible," Derek weakly uttered.

"Not probable," Peter corrected him, shifting his weight in the chair some. His wounds had healed as a human’s would, and was lucky enough to be permitted to leave the hospital only after a few days. The wounds may have still ached, but he was relieved—he had grown antsy being in a hospital again. "But it appears, dear nephew, it is entirely possible considering that the boy in the other room is human, and this portrait is multiple centuries old."

"What does the vampire want?" Derek questioned as his eyes wandered over to the living room, catching sight of Stiles talking with Lydia over an antique book as Allison looked on. He was confident that they were safe for the time being, Argent’s apartment being one of most fortified places against supernatural threats. Even an ancient vampire would pause when facing a hunter as adapted and evolved as the Argents.  
  
"Besides a chance to fuck Stiles?" Peter questioned. He placed his hands up in a placating manner when Derek turned a glare on him, eyes flashing red. "Sorry, forgot how touchy you get," he softly uttered in half-hearted apology. "He probably wants another chance at love."

"Stiles isn't this Marcello," Derek gruffly argued.

"He looks exactly like him, Derek," Peter stated the obvious. "To a person willing to give anything to see the one they love? Seeing the face of a loved one when you know they are dead is enough to drive anyone insane," he knowingly uttered.

"Just because they look the same doesn't mean they are anything alike," Derek argued.

"Says the man who clearly has a type," Peter sang.

Derek turned his gaze on Peter. "What are you getting at?"

"Brown hair, brown eyes," Peter obviously stated. "Beautiful pale skin adorned with moles. The list of comparisons between Stiles and Paige are endless." He didn't flinch when Derek bared his teeth, knowing that he was hitting a nerve. "Why do you think Jennifer Blake chose the visage she did? Because you have a type."

"You're comparing me to this vampire?" Derek snapped. "If you think you love someone, you don't spend your free time terrorizing them into fleeing their home. Or making them paranoid enough to constantly be looking over their shoulder."

"Oh, I'm the first to admit that the vampire is going about this all wrong," Peter admitted. "But you can't deny the fact that the vampire is doing all this because of his blinded desire to fill a vacancy."

"Stiles isn't someone's replacement," Derek growled.

"Have you finally accepted that, then?" Peter asked. "When will the wedding finally be?"

Derek’s grip on the table’s edge tightened, the sound of claws scraping against wood. “Stop being an asshole,” he lowly uttered, looking at Peter. “You don’t know what happened between us.”

“Neither does Stiles, apparently, because you never told him,” Peter answered. He smiled despite Derek’s glare.

“We need to show him this,” Derek conceded, ignoring Peter’s obvious jab at him.

“You show him this, and he’ll give up hope entirely,” Peter answered.

Derek shook his head. “If we don’t show this to him, he’ll find out eventually, and be furious that we didn’t tell him.” He straightened up, pulling the book across the table as he looked at the detail in the copy of the portrait.

It wasn’t hard to see why William had mistaken Stiles for this Marcello. They were practically mirror images of each other. Marcello’s eyes were round, his lips bowed beneath a slender nose. His hair was longer than Stiles’ own, pulled back into a low resting ponytail. The artist had been generous with the lighting, detailing beauty marks that could be argued for matching Stiles’ own.

They were similar, but Derek was glaringly aware of the differences, no matter how faint they were.

“You found something,” Stiles’ voice broke through Derek’s thoughts.

Derek looked up to see Stiles lingering by the doorway leading into the Argent’s living room. “Nothing that helps us,” he offered as he took a step back from the book. “Just more proof that you can’t possibly be this Marcello.”

Stiles took a step closer to the table, catching sight of the page the book was open to. He quickly reached across the table, pulling the book over to himself in order to inspect it closer. He frowned when he saw the portrait. “That’s Marcello, isn’t it?” He softly asked.

Derek kept an eye on Stiles. “Yes,” he simply answered.

“I guess we do look alike,” Stiles commented as he traced his finger around the border of the portrait.

“Looking like someone means nothing,” Peter answered as he lingered in the doorway.

“Just that a vampire might fall in love with me,” Stiles countered.

Derek looked at Peter, silently lifting an eyebrow as he gestured his head towards the living room. It was his quiet question for privacy.

“I’ll just … ” Peter struggled to stand, managing after his third try to get out of the chair. He feigned nonchalance as he gestured towards the living room, giving a nod of his head to Stiles when the human looked at him questionably.

“You don’t have to Alpha him away when he does that,” Stiles offered as he turned his attention towards Derek.

“He’ll never change, I know that,” Derek replied as he leaned against the table. “But you don’t have to deal with him.”

Stiles looked at Derek. “If Allison and Chris can’t track this vampire, we might never get the chance to face him. And then my life will be spent looking over my shoulder.”

Derek reached his hand out to grab Stiles’ wrist, pulling Stiles’ hand away from the book.

Stiles looked down at the way Derek held onto him.

“I’m going to kill him,” Derek restated, determined to keep Stiles from losing all hope.

“Are you?” Stiles asked as he looked Derek in the eye. “Or is he going to kill you? Am I even going to be able to care? Or is he going to brainwash me until I love him?” He weakly pulled his hand out of Derek’s grasp. “He’s going to keep coming for me,” he softly uttered. “And I’m terrified that he’s going to make me want that. If he keeps using his charm or whatever the hell it’s called. Or if he bites …” he shook his head as he stopped speaking.

Derek reached a hand up, cupping Stiles’ face in a gentle touch. He made Stiles look up at him. “I’m going to do everything I can to keep that from happening, Stiles.”

“I think I might have found something to prevent it, actually,” Lydia stated as she walked into the room.

Stiles turned to look at her, taking a step back from Derek as he put space between them. He wondered when they suddenly started going back to intimate touches.

“But I don’t think either of you are going to agree to it,” Lydia explained. She looked up at the two men.

Derek’s eyes fell on the bestiary in Lydia’s hands. “If it’s what I think you’re about to say, no.”

Stiles looked at Derek.

“It doesn’t have to be a mating bite,” Lydia stated in a tired tone.

“He’d still be attached to me as if the bite was a mating one,” Derek quickly turned to her, his voice low with warning. “I say this with as much respect as I can muster: you don’t know what you’re talking about, Lydia.”

Lydia’s eyes flickered over to Stiles for a moment before she continued. “Derek, if this is the only way to counter William’s effects—”

“We’re not trading one for another,” Derek snapped.

“How about you explain what you’re arguing about?” Stiles quickly stated. “I would like to be privy to the idea that is being vetoed without my say,” he commented.

Lydia looked to Derek to see if he was going to allow her to explain. “It’s an old ritual,” she started, turning her attentions to Stiles when Derek refused to look at her. “Alphas have had human mates before—mates that wished to remain human, or were too weak to physically survive the transformation.” She placed the book down on the table for Stiles to look at. “That is the mating bond that Peter first mentioned when this all started.”

Stiles ran his fingertips along the book, reading the dead language written across the page. “Magic is used to alter the bond?” He questioned as he read the words again.

“The mating bond itself wouldn’t be solidified,” Lydia explained. “But since you’re the pack emissary, it would make you a part of the pack without turning you.”

“I’m already pack,” Stiles countered Lydia’s statement.

“It would make our bond stronger,” Derek finally stated. He refused to look at Stiles. “You’d feel a draw to the pack—to _me_.”

Stiles looked at Derek, quietly evaluating his defensive stance. He straightened his own posture, observing Derek’s rigid shoulders. “I’m already drawn to you because of our bond.”

“Exactly,” Derek replied. “I don’t want it twisting your mind into believing false feelings.”

Stiles’ features pinched.

“This was why I never wanted to even consider this,” Derek angrily huffed.

“You’re not William,” Stiles snapped.

Derek finally looked at Stiles.

Stiles’ brow was furrowed in anger as he held Derek’s gaze. “I’m sick of this—I shouldn’t have to tell you a million times that you’re not him. I don’t care if you’re both supernatural—you’ve never _used_ my body. You’ve never taken away my consent—”

“But this bond will,” Derek loudly growled.

Stiles stared at Derek as his features softened some.

“I’m not going to take that away from you, Stiles,” Derek honestly stated.

Stiles looked back down at the book. “Can we talk about this?” He asked, looking up at Derek. He saw how Derek looked pained by such a question. “Can we go home?”

~*~

Derek kept his distance from Stiles. He barely acknowledged the deputies on duty outside the loft’s main building, relieved that Stiles did the necessary small talk. He continued to keep his distance from Stiles, even as they stood in the elevator as it ascended the floors to the loft.

Stiles took the initiative, heading for the loft doors. He pulled the door back, almost fond of the loud yawn it made as it gave way—part of him wondered if Derek kept it that way in order to announce anyone entering. He peeled off his jacket, rolling his shoulders to shed the heavier layer. He turned to look at Derek, wondering if they were actually going to talk.

Derek pulled his leather jacket open, dropping it off his shoulders in order to grab the collar in his hands before it hit the floor. He happened to look over at Stiles as he reached an arm out to place the jacket on the coat rack.

“Are we going to talk, or are you going to just let your eyebrows do the talking?” Stiles asked, hoping it sounded light and playful as he intended.

Derek toed out of his boots, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I thought you got pretty good at reading my eyebrows,” he answered.

Stiles leaned against the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. “I had to, remember?” He waited for Derek to look at him before continuing, “You never wanted to talk about these things.”

“What do you want me to say, Stiles?” Derek sighed, looking up at the ceiling as his thoughts ran in circles.

“The truth,” Stiles replied. “Why you think we should both be against this.”

“Because this is something born wolves dream of, okay?” Derek stated in exasperation. “It means more to wolves than getting married does to humans. And it shouldn’t be done as a way to avoid a stalker.”

Stiles tried to keep his emotions under check, knowing that Derek could sense it. He faintly nodded in understanding. “That’s not something I would want to put on you.” He drew in a breath. “But this isn’t just about now, Derek.” He felt the prickling of tears in the back of his throat, hating himself for still being emotional about the old wound. “I said I was ready for it—and you wouldn’t tell me why you didn’t want to.”

“It’s not something you should want to do to yourself, Stiles,” Derek countered. “This bond that we have right now is already messing with your emotions.”

“Not the way you’re thinking,” Stiles quickly stated as he moved away from the couch. “I’ve … I’ve cared about you for a long time, Derek.” He let his arms fall by his side as he looked at Derek. “I loved you,” he honestly stated. “And I thought we were fine—great even. But you freaked out when I mentioned it.”

Derek’s expression softened as he watched Stiles.

“I know you have a history of making bad decisions when it comes to romances,” Stiles continued. “And I never wanted to be another bad decision for you.” He drew in a heavy breath. He stood straight, backing up towards the spiral staircase. He had to slow his want to run for the safety of his bed, determined to hide beneath his blankets. “So, I’m going to go to bed before I ruin this with more talking.” His hand brushed against the metal railing of the staircase as he allowed his gaze to linger on Derek. “Just think about it. Because I’m not saying no, I never did. But I want to know why you don’t want to—even if it’s just that you don’t love me.”

~*~

Derek kept to himself as he filled out the rest of the report Parrish had handed him. He needed something to concentrate on—something besides the fight he had with Stiles. He was trying to pretend that they didn’t break up—that his heart wasn’t lodged in his throat when Stiles walked out of the loft.

The moon was going to be full tonight, and Derek could feel his wolf clawing at the surface, much closer than normal. He was beyond agitated with events, but knew that a run in the preserve wasn’t going to help. He knew he’d end up at the Sheriff’s house—right outside Stiles’ window.

Derek wanted to tell Stiles the truth. He was afraid. He was terrified out of his mind that he’d lose Stiles if they took it one more step forward. He needed time—he needed training, and patience, something he could hopefully perfect over time. And then, if Stiles was still willing—if he hadn’t fucked it up beyond repair already—they could go back to how things were.

“You doing okay?” Parrish’s voice questioned as the deputy came to lean against his desk, looking down at Derek.

Derek paused his writing to look at Parrish. He offered a noncommittal shrug, turning back to the report he needed to finish. He genuinely liked Parrish, he just didn’t feel like revealing his wounded heart just yet.

“You know, the Sheriff told me,” Parrish started. He felt a little uncertain if he should continue when the pen in Derek’s hand made a cracking sound. “I’m not going to say anything, just that if you need time or something, I can try and pick up the slack.”

Derek mutely nodded. “Thanks,” he forced himself to answer, knowing Parrish was trying to help in the only way he knew how. But consulting with the Sheriff’s station felt like a nice distraction at the moment. And he needed that—badly.

Derek’s wolf grew agitated when Deputy Mandel’s voice traveled into the bullpen.

Deputy Jason Mandel transferred from the city, never giving a straight answer why he was relocated to a small town Sheriff’s department. He did his job well enough, having mediocrely passed the deputy’s exams and developed some rapport with the townfolk.

Derek hated the guy. He hated him before he found out about his relentless harassment of Stiles.

“So Stiles finally dumped Hale, huh?” Jason’s voice thoughtfully questioned in a pondering manner.

“Derek broke up with Stiles, actually,” another deputy replied. “Poor kid came in here the other day crying, asking Maria where the Sheriff was.”

“That’s rough,” a feminine voice commented.

“He ran to his dad?” Jason asked, sounding skeptical.

“Stiles is real close with his dad,” the first deputy answered. “But Stiles was living with Derek—so he’s going to have to move home for a while.”

“Or find somewhere else to shack up with for now,” Jason stated.

The hair on the back of Derek’s neck rose, his wolf heckling.

There was an awkward silence.

“Dude, enough,” a third deputy commented. “Stiles is like a kid brother, and it’s getting to be more than playful.”

“You don’t hit on someone who just broke up with their long time partner,” the female deputy stated, sounding disgusted with Jason.

“Stiles has told you to stop,” the third deputy stated before Jason could even get out whatever it was he had started to say. “The Sheriff isn’t an idiot, either. He’ll have your hide for going at his son like that.”

“He’s not kicking Hale to the curb,” Jason countered, his tone suggesting that he was making an observation instead of trying to argue a losing case.

The female deputy snorted. “Hale is an 11, Mandel, in more than just looks,” she stated, completely unabashed in admitting it.

“Meaning?” Jason asked, his words bristled.

“Meaning, Derek has qualities that parents gobble up,” the first deputy laughed. “He’s the perfect little boy scout of a boyfriend. Derek cooks, cleans, and _makes love_ , as Stiles so kindly likes to remind people.”

Derek faintly smirked at that, remembering how Stiles had been more than vocal about their relationship on a number of occasions, once resulting in John kicking Stiles out of the offices for more than a day.

“So he’s a saint,” Jason scoffed. “Clearly, Stiles doesn’t need that.”

Derek abruptly stood up, the scraping of his chair’s legs across the floor must have alerted the deputies that there were people in the bullpen.

“All set?” Parrish asked as he walked back towards Derek.

“Yeah,” Derek almost barked, shoving the paper at Parrish. “If John needs anything, he has my number,” he added, finally moving to leave the station behind. He wished he had written faster.

It was abrupt—two people rounding the same corner, walking in different directions.

Derek reached his arms out on instinct alone, grabbing for the flailing human who practically bounced off him.

Stiles flung his arm out to maintain a hold on the salad he brought his dad. He hadn’t been looking where he was going, staring at his feet as he was deep in thought. But now that he was standing chest to chest with Derek, he had wished he thought about calling ahead of time to check if Derek was working.

“Sorry,” Derek softly uttered, quickly removing his hands from Stiles.

Stiles tried to pretend not to notice just how fast Derek let go. “My fault,” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders. He clutched the salad containers to his chest, unable to think of anything else to say.

Derek hated how sad Stiles was, his chest twisting with regret as his wolf howled and clawed for him to make it right.

“I didn’t know you worked days now,” Stiles commented.

Derek forced himself to look at Stiles. “I don’t,” he answered. “Your dad needed me to report my version of events for a case.”

Stiles firmly nodded. “Right, of course,” he tightly stated. He raised the containers in his hands, as if to show why he was there. “I, um, just brought my dad food. I’m not following you or anything.”

Derek’s brow furrowed.

“I know you said you needed space and time, so I didn’t want you thinking I’m being creepy and trying to force us into awkwardly timed run-ins,” Stiles rambled.

“Stiles,” Derek softly uttered. “I don’t think that,” he firmly stated, wishing he could make Stiles believe that.

Stiles nodded, refusing to look at Derek again. “Are you leaving?” He awkwardly asked, almost hoping he could work up the nerve to ask Derek to join him and his dad.

“Yeah,” Derek shortly answered, taking a step away from Stiles. “I’ll … see you around.”

Stiles wished he hadn’t nodded a bit too enthusiastically. He watched Derek walk around the corner, leaving him to head through the bullpen to his father’s office.

Derek had barely a foot out the door when he heard Stiles’ heartbeat become erratic. He remained still, listening to the quickened beat. He had been all too familiar with the rhythm, knowing that it was a precursor to Stiles having a panic attack. He cursed himself for his timing, knowing that Stiles was likely having an attack because of him.

Derek halted when he heard Jason’s voice. He could pinpoint it—Jason was talking to Stiles.

“I said no, okay?” Stiles softly answered Jason’s pressure. “I’m not looking for a relationship right now—I just broke up with Derek.”

“Perfect time to get back out there,” Jason answered, taking a step into Stiles’ space. “It’ll be fun—keep your mind off of what a deadbeat Hale could be.”

Stiles was about to argue that statement when Jason continued.

“Listen, I’ve had these tickets for a while, and I bought them with you in mind,” Jason explained. “It could be just a friendly time out together.”

“Let … me think about it, okay?” Stiles wasn’t sure why he even said that, but part of him hoped it appeased Jason long enough that he could escape.

“All I wanted,” Jason answered with a smile.

Stiles didn’t return the smile as he ducked by the other man, quickly making his way into his dad’s office.

Derek wished Stiles hadn't been nice about it, but he also knew he didn't have a say in how Stiles interacted with others—especially now. He forced himself to turn around and leave, knowing that if he didn't he'd surely attack someone. Likely Jason.

John pretended that he didn't see Stiles' uneasiness, making a note to talk to Jason again when he saw the young deputy walking back into the bullpen, trailing after Derek's retreating form.

Stiles was too busy watching Derek leave, a small ache in his chest, to even realized that his father was talking to him. "What?" He quickly asked, turning to look at his dad when his name was spoken.

“I asked what happened?” John asked Stiles as he picked at his salad, hoping it would cheer Stiles up.

“I had enough time to cook you chicken,” Stiles answered in relation to the salad’s toppings.

“Stiles,” John stated his name in a serious tone, arching his eyebrows at his son. “I think you know what I was referring to.”

Stiles frowned, sinking in his chair some. “I don’t know,” he offered. “Everything was fine—good even. Now … now he won’t even look me in the eye.”

“Did you fight?” John asked, dropping his fork into his salad as he abandoned it.

“After the fact, a little,” Stiles tearfully uttered. He quickly wiped his hand at his eyes, not wanting to cry any more than he already had. “I’d rather not focus on it, dad.”

“Okay,” John softly relented. “I’m sure it will all resolve itself in a week or two.” His gaze traveled over to the bullpen where he saw Derek last. “A month, tops. I’m sure of it.”

Stiles shook his head. “I, uh, I’m actually going to leave town for a while,” he answered.

John looked taken aback. “Meaning?” He pressed.

“There’s a graduate program I got into,” Stiles answered, looking at his dad.

“You didn’t say you were looking into that,” John replied.

Stiles shrugged. “It’s on the eastern coast,” he explained. “I got a pretty good scholarship, guaranteed internship. I wasn’t going to go, originally—but now …”

John felt his gut sink. He wondered if Derek was letting Stiles go on purpose, now. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities for Derek to do something like that. He opened his mouth to speak, cutting himself off when he saw the wave of deputies running through the bullpen, rushing to the parking lot. He quickly got up, his thoughts immediately turning to there being some sort of assault.

Stiles’ brow softly ticked as he turned in his chair to look out the office window. He felt a brush of anger brewing in his stomach, and the need to sink his teeth into something. “Derek,” he softly uttered as he got up, rushing out after the deputies.

“Stiles!” John yelled, following after his son.

Stiles ran out of the main doors, scuffling down the steps to a dead stop when he saw the deputies all crowded together as they kept two men apart.

On one side, Stiles could see Parrish holding Derek back with his arms wrapped around his chest. On the other was two of the male deputies Stiles hadn’t known for long, both of them helping Deputy Mandel to stand.

“Derek, calm down!” Parrish firmly uttered, barely holding Derek back, despite putting his whole weight into restraining the man.

“He just attacked me—”

“Shut up, Jason!” A female deputy yelled at him.

“What the hell is going on?” John demanded as he pushed passed Stiles, getting into the middle of it.

“Hale attacked me,” Jason tattled before anyone else could say anything. “Broke my nose!”

Derek moved forward, forcing the soles of Parrish’s boots to scrape across the cement.

Parrish knew Derek could shove him off, but he had hoped his grip would be a reminder for Derek to not attack a Sheriff’s deputy.

“Could break a lot more than that, asshole,” Derek seethed.

“Jason was … saying things,” the female deputy stated, a look of displeasure on her face. “But Derek did hit him first,” she reluctantly relayed to the Sheriff.

“He deserved it,” Derek snapped.

Stiles could see Derek’s eyes changing color, red being so close to the surface. He looked at Jason, almost knowing what the idiot must have said to Derek to make him respond like that.

“Enough!” John yelled at everyone. “Mandel, you are suspended until further notice.”

“What?” Jason angrily stated. “You’re not going to arrest him?”

John took a step towards Jason, his expression barely hiding his own fury at the situation. “I’m not sure if you think I’m a fool or just uncaring,” he lowly began. “But I know what happens in my own station, involving my deputies. And I know when my own son feels uncomfortable around them.”

Stiles looked at his dad, his gaze flickering over to the other deputies. He couldn’t find a wavering expression among them—they were in agreement with his father.

“You’ll go quietly with a suspension, if you understand what is good for you, _deputy_ ,” John finished. He waited a few moments to make sure Jason was going to keep quiet. “Take him inside to get cleaned up,” he ordered the other deputies.

Parrish finally relented his hold on Derek when Jason and a majority of the others were inside.

Derek rolled his shoulders, straightening his jacket as he tried to compose himself.

“Listen,” John began, knowing that both Stiles and Derek were awkward about things now. “I’m not sure what that was about—though I think I can guess,” his eyes looked at Stiles before he turned back to Derek. “But you did hit a deputy, Derek.”

Derek’s features were completely tensed, his expression closed off and unreadable.

“Hale,” John started, a frown pulling at his features. “You’re officially relieved of being a consultant.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. “Dad—”

John turned to give Stiles a look—one that told him to keep quiet for once. There was little he could do but hope it wouldn’t be a more serious outcome than this. He turned to look at Derek once more. “I’m sorry, son.”

Derek took in a deep breath, shaking his head as he tried to reel in his wolf. He was confident he hid the soft whine that almost escaped him. “I understand, sir,” he lowly stated, his chest tightening some. He acted on impulse and made the situation harder for everyone. And now, he was losing what was left of Stiles being in his life. “I’m sorry for this,” he added.

John took a step forward, his gesture to reach out to Derek aborted when the young man turned to leave. He didn’t hide his frown as he watched Derek get in his car and drive away.

Parrish looked at Stiles, wondering if he should say anything. He waited a long beat before finally speaking. “Sir,” he started, looking at John. “I agree with what you did, however, I also believe Deputy Mandel should be completely expunged from our station.”

John observed Parrish carefully.

“He’s had a few,” Parrish stopped himself, completely aware of Stiles’ presence. “A few _choice_ words when it comes to Stiles.”

Stiles felt dirty, disgust bubbling up in his gut as he looked away from Parrish and his father.

“It’s not a secret that he’s attracted to Stiles—and he didn’t hide it when Stiles was dating Derek,” Parrish continued. “He hit on Stiles in front of us, and he’s said some … things that I would rather not repeat if not necessary.”

John looked at Stiles. “He hit on you? In the _station_?”

Stiles finally looked at his father, barely nodding.

“Stiles, why didn’t you say anything?” John incredulously asked.

Stiles shook his head. He’d never get his dad to understand.

“Christ,” John cursed. “I could have done something about this before hand,” he stated aloud. “I could have pushed Derek through as a deputy to replace him, even. Why didn’t you tell me?”

The question stung, because it was exactly what Stiles asked himself every time. “Because.”

“Because why?” John harshly pressed, thinking it was just another misstep on Stiles’ behalf.

“Because I didn’t want to be the Sheriff’s kid for once!” Stiles yelled at his dad. He angrily wiped his unshed tears away. “Because I didn’t want to go _whining to daddy_ and have you deal with my problems, okay?”

“Stiles,” John softly started, sadness in his tone.

“I told him no, every time,” Stiles continued. “I didn’t even flirt back, but he’s always pushed one step further. And I …” his throat was burning with unshed tears. “I didn’t know what to do—I didn’t tell Derek because I knew the perfect moron would get into a fight. And then I didn’t want to make you choose between your job and me—”

John grabbed Stiles’ arm, pulling him into a gentle embrace. “Don’t you ever think there is a chance that decision would be this station,” he uttered, his hold on Stiles tight and unwavering.

Stiles never heard his father talking to Jason, but he knew something happened when Jason took a wide berth of him from then on. He didn’t suffer the lingering stares or unwanted touching, knowing that his father must have drawn a bold line that informed Jason of his place.

Stiles’ one regret was that Derek had been barred from consulting with the Beacon Police. He regretted it more when he boarded the plane to head east, knowing that there was little now to distract Derek. The guilt brewed in his stomach as he thought of leaving Derek alone in Beacon Hills, wondering if Derek felt the abandonment Stiles had.

There was no way for Stiles to know that the next time he saw Derek, everything would be so different.

~*~

Stiles turned onto his back, another night of restless sleep. He stared at the ceiling, the moonlight shining through the loft’s windows was bright enough to light up his room. He released a heavy sigh as he turned to look at the window. He wondered when this was going to be over—if he and Derek were going to be able to go back to normal. He felt that Derek was pacing downstairs, his wards vibrating with the anxiety shedding off the Alpha. He had decided it was better to leave Derek on his own, before he realized that Derek was going to internalize it all.

Stiles sat up, slipping out of his bed. He lazily made his way down to the spiral staircase, knowing Derek heard him when the Alpha stopped pacing. He rubbed at his eyes, blearily looking at Derek. “I didn’t want you worrying.”

“I’m not,” Derek immediately stated as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Stiles arched his eyebrows at Derek. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Derek’s face twisted in annoyance.

“You’re making my wards react,” Stiles commented. He moved to sit down on the couch, pulling his legs up against his chest. “Do you want to talk?” He asked as he turned his head to observe Derek.

A frown pulled at Derek’s lips. “I don’t want to be him,” he admitted.

Stiles’ expression softened at those words. “Why would you think that you’re anything like him?”

Derek slowly walked over to the couch, slumping his body down onto the cushion next to Stiles. “William is cornering you,” he explained. “He looks at you and knows that he wants you … but he’s acting like a feral animal. He’s coming after you because of his desire to own you. And because of your spark, and the bite he gave you— it’s confusing your thoughts.”

Stiles picked at the hem of his pajama leg. “If anything, I’m like William, forcing you to make a decision like this.”

Derek looked at Stiles.

“We never talked about our break up, because it felt easier that way,” Stiles offered, refusing to look up at Derek. “But I left because I didn’t want to be Jennifer,” he honestly stated. “I didn’t want you to ever feel like you had to do something just to please me. And yeah, I wanted us to have the bond, and I wanted to take that next step with you because I love you, but you’re a self-sacrificing moron. And you would sacrifice everything you wanted if you thought it would make others happy.” He allowed the silence to fall between them, releasing a deeper sigh as he prayed for the couch cushions to swallow him whole.

“I said no because I’m not strong enough to handle the bond,” Derek suddenly confessed.

Stiles finally looked at Derek.

“Alphas get power from their pack,” Derek explained, looking at his hands. “When they take a mate, it’s a vulnerability of the heart. If we can’t protect and provide for our mate, we shut down, essentially throwing the entire pack into chaos. Or worse … we—” He closed his eyes, remembering what happened with his great aunt’s pack when the Alpha Mate had died—the Alpha had gone mad and slaughtered the entire pack.

“You thought I was going to get hurt, and that you’d grieve too much?”

“That’s putting it kindly,” Derek lowly stated. “We can go feral,” he confessed, looking at Stiles finally. “Losing a pack member is like losing a limb; losing a mate is like tearing your organs out one at a time. Alphas can be driven mad by that loss, and they attack what was left of their life.”

“Derek, you can’t know that would happen—”

“My great aunt’s pack was torn apart because the Alpha Mate died,” Derek quickly stated. “She died in childbirth, her and the baby. And the Alpha lost his mind in a matter of hours from the grief. His pack tried to help, but just ended up getting killed for their troubles.” He shook his head. “My mother rarely talked about it, but I remember what she told Laura about the bond—my parents didn’t bond until they had Cora.”

Stiles stared at Derek.

“My mother had decades worth of being the Alpha—the proper training, the correct pack dynamic,” Derek shook his head. “My mother had stability for decades, and she was still terrified to bond with my father.”

“You let us break up because you were afraid of losing me? Derek—”

“I know,” Derek sharply stated, telling Stiles that he had this conversation with himself many times already. “I didn’t want to destroy more than I already had.”

Stiles wiped some of the tears from his eyes, suddenly releasing a faint, watery laugh. “I can’t believe this is a sincere ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ conversation.”

Derek couldn’t help the soft snort that escaped him.

“So,” Stiles dared to press, looking at Derek as his heart raced. “Did you still love me when I left?”

Derek shared a look with Stiles, unable to look away from him. He knew for all his complaints against their bond forming, it had blossomed naturally. He knew Stiles could call him on his bullshit now, and there was no hiding.

“I still loved you when you came back,” Derek answered.

Stiles looked down at where his fingernails picked at the threads of the cushion he sat on. “That’s not fair,” he softly argued. “That’s definitely not fair to say.”

“It’s true,” Derek reaffirmed, partially agreeing with Stiles.

“Doesn’t make it fair! Because ever since I’ve come home, I think I’ve fallen for you more and more,” Stiles argued. “And I tried so hard to hate you, but you’ve just gotten so much better—you couldn’t be a typical ex and become horrible.” He smiled to himself as he thought about what happened over the past few years. “You’ve grown as a person, and I really—”

Stiles was surprised when Derek took hold of his hands. He looked up, a pensive look on his face as he thought about it.

Derek reached a hand up, cupping Stiles’ jaw in the palm of his hand. He ran his thumb along Stiles’ cheek, his eyes searching for a sign to pull back.

Stiles pushed forward, pressing a kiss to Derek’s lips, letting his legs fall open as he scooted closer to Derek. He sat up all the way, his kiss lingering as he slowly moved to straddle Derek’s lap.

Derek crawled forward, accommodating Stiles’ body as he pulled Stiles in against him. He ran his hands along Stiles’ thighs, hooking behind Stiles’ knees as he dragged Stiles across the couch cushion, making Stiles’ actions quicker.

Stiles let his legs settle around Derek’s waist, allowing Derek to manhandle him into position. His hands caressed Derek’s face, opening his mouth to their kiss. He let Derek push him down into the couch, elevating his hips to accommodate Derek’s legs.

Derek pulled back from their kiss, just out of reach of Stiles’ lips. He admired Stiles’ features, his hands cradling Stiles’ face. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time,” he heavily uttered, quickly stealing another kiss from Stiles. “I was so damn scared I’d lost you forever because I’m an idiot,” he confessed in a whisper, his voice sounding wrecked at the idea of living a life without Stiles around. “That I fucked it up, like every other thing in my life.”

Stiles hooked his ankles together behind Derek’s back, determined to never let him go. His hands caressed along Derek’s sides, a reassuring gesture to let Derek know that he was more than content in staying this way. “Impossible,” he mumbled against Derek’s lips. “You’re stuck with me,” he added through a smile. “Especially after a confession like that.”

It was like falling into an old dance rhythm, both of them remembering the steps after a while.

~*~

Stiles always knew it had been Derek’s presence that made him sleep soundly. Since their break up, he never really had a solid night’s sleep. He woke up to the warm feeling of another body pressed against him. He snuggled in closer, faintly smiling when Derek accommodated him. He started to fall back asleep as Derek’s fingers ran through his hair.

Stiles felt weightless, his mind falling further and further into sleep.

 _Marcello_.

Stiles jerked awake, his body feeling heavy as he looked around the loft. He realized that Derek wasn’t in bed with him. He felt a chill fall over his body, a prickling at the back of his neck as if he was being watched. He crawled out of bed, his feet warmer than the cold floor of the loft as he padded out of the small corner Derek made his bedroom. He walked out into the open area, feeling relieved when he saw Derek moseying around the kitchen. He ran a hand through his hair as he moved into the kitchen, the prickling along the back of his neck dissipating the closer he got to Derek.

“Morning,” Derek softly uttered, turning to look at Stiles. He was surprised when Stiles pushed forward, wrapping his arms around his waist. He twisted his body, lifting his arm up to wrap around Stiles. “What’s wrong?” He asked when Stiles silently burrowed his face into the curve of Derek’s shoulder.

“I could feel something close by,” Stiles explained, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. “Sorry,” he mumbled, feeling stupid for clinging to Derek.

“Shut up,” Derek fondly uttered, holding Stiles closer. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Stiles clenched his eyes shut as he held onto Derek.

~*~

Derek would nose at Stiles’ neck, pressing kisses over the hickeys he sucked into his skin. He never bit down on Stiles’ skin, still aware of the healing mark William had left on Stiles’ shoulder. He caught Stiles touching it more than once at the last pack meeting, a subconscious action that had him worried. He made sure to place a hickey on the other side of Stiles’ neck, hoping it would distract him from it.

It had been weeks since anything happened, all signs pointing to William having vanished. It didn’t put Stiles at ease to think that William had slipped away to lurk in the unknown, likely plotting revenge against Derek for maiming him.

Stiles was never without Derek, finding himself smiling whenever he caught sight of Derek browsing the books in the shop, or getting coffee from Erica. He was glad he had someone to have lunch with, knowing that he’d close himself up in the office otherwise.

When they were alone, Derek would smile at Stiles, pulling him close to press a kiss to his lips. And Stiles would melt in Derek’s embrace, smiling into their kiss. But he could still feel the sinking awareness in him—William’s shadow was still looming over him.

Derek noticed the way Stiles would space out, staring at the portrait of Marcello. He wished he could burn the thing from memory.

Stiles was sitting on the couch, his gaze unfocused as he stared at the book on the coffee table. It was the book Allison had found about Marcello’s family—nothing but a brief mention of an unknown man taking an interest in the young lord. They all knew it was William.

Derek had been grateful when Lydia produced a list of Stiles’ ancestry, proving that he had no connection to Marcello’s family line. He was even happier when Lydia revealed that Marcello’s familial line ended at the stake with him.

“Stiles,” Derek softly started, reaching a hand out to touch Stiles’ shoulder. He traced his fingers over Stiles’ shoulder blade.

“I never want to be his,” Stiles thoughtlessly uttered. “Controlled like some pet.” He turned his head to look at Derek. “Promise me, that if it comes down to it, and he manages to—”

“Stiles—”

“If he turns me,” Stiles forcefully continued. “Promise me you’ll kill me.” He grabbed Derek’s arm, his nails biting into Derek’s skin. “I don’t … I don’t want to live like that, Derek.”

Derek reached out, his hand cupping the back of Stiles’ neck as he moved to stand in front of Stiles. “I’ll give you the Bite before I’d let him turn you,” he uttered.

Stiles nodded. “Make sure you take care of my dad,” he added.

“Don’t talk about it like you’re dead,” Derek sharply stated, his wolf agitated that he couldn’t change Stiles’ worry.

“He’s still here, Derek,” Stiles weakly stated, looking up at Derek. “I can feel eyes on me, even if my wards aren’t going off. I know he’s around here, somewhere. He’s not going away—he won’t. Not until he has me back.”

“You’re not Marcello,” Derek firmly stated as he knelt before Stiles, settling between Stiles’ knees as he cupped Stiles’ head in his hands. “What do you need me to do to make you see that?”

Stiles trembled as he blinked the tears away. “I wanted attention like this—at one point in my life,” he confessed. “I wanted Lydia to notice me for so long, I thought I’d be overjoyed to have her obsessed with me, like I was with her. And then with you—” A hiccup cut off his words, a heavy sob nearly jerking him out of Derek’s hold. “I just wanted someone to love me for me, and I thought that if someone would just want to be with me always, that would make up for the years—”

“I want to be with you, Stiles,” Derek firmly stated. He tilted Stiles’ head up as he softly instructed Stiles to look at him. “Open your eyes and look at me,” he stated in a gentle tone.

Stiles blearily blinked his tears away, looking at Derek.

“I didn’t want to be with someone for a long time after Kate,” Derek started, the weight in his chest raising as it always did, threatening to jump out his throat. “Jennifer—Julia, whatever she was … She had to use a spell that called out to my instincts as an Alpha,” he explained. “I thought I loved her because my wolf wanted to protect her.”

Stiles sniffled some, wiping the back of his hand against his nose.

“I just wanted someone to love and accept me for me—all of me, wolf included,” Derek continued. “No one but Paige had ever …” He closed his eyes, releasing a heavy breath. “Paige accepted me, and then she died because of my world. I thought that was what it meant to love me.”

Stiles reached his hands up to hold onto Derek’s wrists, his warm grip gently holding onto Derek, hoping it was enough to encourage him to continue.

“If I saw someone that I thought was Paige, I would _never_ do what he is doing to you,” Derek firmly stated. “That isn’t something you do to someone you claim to care about.” He ran his thumb across Stiles’ cheekbone, wiping the tears away.

“You had a crush on Lydia,” Derek continued. “You didn’t terrorize her, threaten her wellbeing—threaten her family.” He stared at Stiles. “I want you to understand that what William is doing isn’t healthy—it’s not a loving act, supernatural or mundane.”

Stiles weakly nodded into Derek’s hands, knowing that he was right. He hated how vulnerable he felt, as if he was doomed to be the victim no matter how hard he tried not to be. “I just want this over—I can’t think about anything without this creeping up on me. I just … I want to feel safe again, Derek.”

Derek pressed his forehead against Stiles’, wishing he could guarantee a promise of safety. “I know,” he decidedly agreed. “I’m going to do whatever I can to make you feel that way again, Stiles. I can promise you that.”

“I trust you,” Stiles breathed out, closing his eyes as he held onto Derek.

Derek pressed in, kissing Stiles deeply. He refused to press for more, afraid of startling Stiles.

Stiles pulled Derek in close, hooking one of his legs around Derek’s waist as he drew him in. He pressed kisses to Derek’s lips, hands pulling at Derek’s shirt. “If you’re not going to let us have sex,” he started, his breathing labored as he practically writhed against Derek. “Can I at least blow you?”

Derek huffed out an exasperated laugh.

“No laughing,” Stiles interrupted him. “I’m not bad, as you well remember.”

“Rather hard to forget,” Derek replied.

Stiles moaned in agreement when Derek ground their hips together. “I’d say something is definitely _hard_ ,” he snorted.

~*~

“This is disgusting,” Isaac petulantly spoke through a blocked nose. “Can we please go somewhere besides their sex den for pack meetings?”

Stiles laughed as he settled in his seat next to Lydia.

Isaac had been the one to walk into the loft, not paying much attention in announcing himself, to discover Derek and Stiles on the couch, grinding together like teenagers.

“Shut up, Isaac,” Derek ordered.

“You can’t tell me you aren’t bothered by this,” Isaac asked Boyd.

“I’m just not breathing through my nose,” Boyd answered.

“I’m glad I don’t have a super sense of smell,” Lydia commented.

“Oh God, what the--” Scott loudly uttered when he walked into the loft. He looked from Stiles to Derek, back to Stiles once more. “You’re having sex with him? Again?!” He almost demanded as he gestured towards Derek.

“That’s what I tend to do with my _boyfriend_ ,” Stiles easily replied with a smug smile. “Besides, we haven’t actually had _sex-_ sex yet. Again _._ ”

“Stiles,” Derek sighed.

“Blow jobs count as sex,” Lydia countered as she kept reading.

“Yeah, I’m going to vomit,” Isaac off handedly uttered.

“Can we move on from this?” Derek demanded.

Stiles stuck his tongue out at Isaac, laughing to himself.

Derek couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his features—it was the first time, in a long time, that Stiles actually sincerely laughed.

Derek waiting for the pack to leave before he turned his attentions back to Stiles. “Does that really bother you?” He sincerely asked.

Stiles looked up at Derek, mid-bite through a slice of pizza. “What?”

“That we haven’t just jumped back into it,” Derek elaborated.

Stiles arched an eyebrow at Derek, dropping his pizza slice back onto his paper plate on the coffee table. He rubbed his hands together to get rid of crumbs, wiping them off on his jeans. “You’re asking me if it bothers me that we haven’t stuck our dicks back in each other’s asses?”

Derek rolled his eyes, exasperatingly sighing, “Such a poet.”

Stiles snorted. “You’re the one that likes me despite it.”

Derek softly chuckled as he shook his head. “In all seriousness,” he started, looking at Stiles.

“Does it bother _you_?” Stiles asked instead. “Because I could wait forever if you wanted to—even if you never want to again, I’d respect that.”

“This isn’t about me,” Derek countered.

Stiles looked at Derek. “If it was about you,” he began. “What would you want to do?”

“I want to be with you, Stiles,” Derek answered. “In every way imaginable. But …”

Stiles’ features softened some. “But you don’t want to rush things because of William.”

Derek’s features were pinched as he reluctantly nodded.

Stiles got up from the couch, making his way over to Derek. He grabbed ahold of Derek’s forearms, forcing Derek to unfold his arms from their crossed defense over his chest. He took the last step into Derek’s space, guiding Derek’s arms to wrap around his waist. “I adore you,” he stated, placing a kiss on Derek’s lips. “Everything about you,” he reached his hands up to cup Derek’s face in his hands as he spoke. “And I can’t say that jumping right back into everything isn’t something I want, because it is. But I want you to be comfortable with it, Derek. You nearly bit off Peter’s head the last time he made a snide remark about it.”

“I always nearly bite off Peter’s head,” Derek argued, his arms tightening around Stiles to draw him in close.

“Valid,” Stiles answered, a soft smile on his lips. He kissed Derek, hoping it was something to calm his thoughts. “If I asked you right now,” he spoke against Derek’s lips. “Would you make love to me?”

Derek hesitated, wishing he could say what he wanted without his conscious worrying about it. “I would—if I didn’t fear biting you,” he honestly confessed. He pressed his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck, scenting him thoroughly. He moved his lips to press over Stiles’ pulse point. “Because I want to Stiles—I want to give you the mate bond so fucking bad.”

Stiles shivered at how wrecked Derek sounded.

“Right here,” Derek continued, scraping his blunt human teeth over one of Stiles’ moles. “So everyone would know that you let me have this—us. That you chose me.”

“I want that,” Stiles answered. “I really want that, Derek,” he admitted, seeking out Derek’s lips with his own. He opened his mouth to Derek, relishing in their kiss.

~*~

Stiles clung to Derek as the moved together, the bed shifting under their weight with every thrust. He reached a hand up, grasping tightly at Derek’s bicep as he encouraged him to keep going. His other hand moved to twist through Derek’s hair, his fingernails biting down into Derek’s scalp on one particularly hard thrust.

Derek was partially shifted, per usual when they had sex—it was nothing new to Stiles, and it only served to spur their mutual desire. His eyes burned their deep Alpha red as he panted through a mouth full of sharp fangs.

Stiles shifted one leg higher, trying to give Derek a better angle. He moaned at the spike of pleasure the movement gave him. He released a breathy sigh when Derek’s hand pressed up under his thigh to keep him in place. He could tell Derek was getting close, listening to Derek’s labored breathing and feeling the way his thrusts turned erratic in chasing pleasure.

“Bite me,” Stiles softly begged, his hand still buried in Derek’s hair. “Mark me up—I want your mark,” he uttered as he tried to catch his breath.

Derek bit down fast and hard, still working their hips together in their frantic rhythm. He listened to Stiles cry out in pain and pleasure, feeling Stiles’ entire body tense still as he came.

Stiles was blissfully dizzy when he felt Derek’s movements still, his whole body thrumming with energy when Derek finally retracted his fangs. He released a soft moan when Derek gently cradled his head, angling his neck to be on display.

“Did I hurt you?” Derek asked, his voice hoarse. He sounded as if he was coming down from a high.

“Not in a bad way,” Stiles answered, licking his lips as he closed his eyes. He allowed his body to splay out on the bed, his muscles pleasantly sore. “I missed this,” he admitted with a small smile. He opened one eye to observe Derek. “I missed us.”

“I missed us, too,” Derek echoed, placing a chaste kiss to Stiles’ lips.

Stiles was happy that Derek cleaned them up, feeling as if his body was going to disintegrate if he moved too much. His smile widened when Derek pulled the sheets and blanket up around them, not caring that they were naked.

“What if I turn into a werewolf?” Stiles tiredly asked as he curled up beside Derek. He was content in never removing his head from Derek’s chest, determined to keep Derek as a pillow.

Derek snorted. “You’re not going to,” he answered. He was busy trailing his hand up and over Stiles’ hip, moving to gently caress the curve of Stiles’ spine.

“There was no incense or chanting,” Stiles yawned. “Peter said that was supposed to happen with the sex and the full moon, remember?”

“Peter’s an asshole,” Derek replied.

“True,” Stiles answered with a small chuckle.

“Get some sleep,” Derek softly suggested.

“Just because you bit me doesn’t mean I’ll listen to you,” Stiles yawned against Derek’s skin.

“Right, of course, how foolish of me to believe you’d listen to reason,” Derek deadpanned.

Stiles reluctantly rolled to the side of the bed, away from Derek as he blindly pawed around for his phone on the nightstand.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, sounding more annoyed than curious by Stiles’ sudden movements.

“Texting Lydia,” Stiles answered. He fired off a quick text, smirking to himself when Lydia sent back a smirking emoji of her own. He graceless tossed his phone back onto the nightstand before diving back into the bed and onto Derek.

“You’re lucky I’m a werewolf,” Derek stated, a minor grimace the only indicator that Stiles managed to affect him.

~*~

Lydia was working late, focusing on translating the last of the Latin in the bestiary’s page. She was grateful Allison managed to get the scans from Chris’ contacts in Romania. She had little hope that anything would reveal much—but every entry counted as something else in their arsenal.

Allison made a soft sound in her sleep, her body mindlessly squirming on the couch.

Lydia released a soft laugh when Allison mumbled something about ‘knives’ and ‘soft spots’.

Allison’s sleep talking settled down as she got comfortable, her body falling back asleep almost instantly.

Lydia turned back to her notes. She pursed her lips as she thought about the next words in the translation. She had seen the word before, but thought little of it. It had suggested that a vampire would take matured women from the villages surrounding them, but she had assumed it meant nothing more than a warning.

But now, it seemed like the entry spoke about the mature women returning to do the vampire’s bidding.

Lydia’s eyes widened when she remembered the other meaning. The hairs on the back of Lydia’s neck started to rise, an uneasiness growing in her gut as she looked at the stairs, her scream clawing up through her throat.

A window upstairs suddenly shattered.

Allison jumped at the sound of glass shattering, her body completely alert as she brandished the knife she had hidden beneath one of the cushions.

Lydia couldn’t stop her scream when a distorted figure flashed down the stairs in a blurred rush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, Lydia and Allison will be okay! Mostly ...
> 
> More things will be revealed, but as always, more angst and heartbreak awaits us in the next chapter(s) ...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad to see such a positive response to this fic! I'm so glad that you all are enjoying it so far :)

Stiles grunted when Derek moved to get up. He reached a petulant hand out to try and stop Derek from leaving.

Derek smiled as he pulled his pants on. He leaned over the bed, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ head. “I’ll be right back.”

“No,” Stiles huffed through his sleepy haze.

“A deputy is at the door,” Derek calmly answered.

“Probably needs coffee,” Stiles mumbled, turning into the pillow Derek had been sleeping on. He started to fall asleep, comforted by the warmth Derek left behind. He was suddenly jerking awake when Derek’s hand gently shook his shoulder.

“Your dad is here,” Derek explained.

Stiles blinked at Derek as he took in his expression. He could tell something serious had happened by the unpleasant crease in Derek’s brow. It was Derek’s puzzled look, the one that he tried to use in order to hide the fact that he was worried about something.

“Get dress,” Derek partially asked as he stood from the bed, moving to grab a discarded shirt from the hamper.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, still unmoving.

“Once you’re dressed,” was all Derek offered as explanation, hoping Stiles wouldn’t argue for once.

Stiles hurriedly dressed, his mind racing with questions as his stomach twisted with panic. He pulled one of Derek’s Henley’s on, liking the fit better than his own clothes as he pulled the sleeve down to cover his hands. He wanted to hide his body from sight. He was deliberately slow in emerging from the designated bedroom area.

“Hey, kiddo,” the Sheriff greeted Stiles, releasing a heavy breath like he had been holding it until he saw his son.

“Dad,” Stiles started as he moved to hug him. He looked over his dad’s shoulder, seeing Derek talking in a hushed tone with Parrish. “What’s happening?”

The Sheriff hesitated when Stiles pulled back. He sighed as he rubbed a hand over his creased forehead. “You have to come into the station.”

Stiles stared at his father then Derek. “What happened?” He nearly demanded.

“Someone attacked the deputies on patrol,” Derek loudly stated when John didn’t answer. He knew he couldn’t lie to Stiles about it.

Stiles looked at his father. “Was it … _him_?” He couldn’t bring himself to say William’s name.

The Sheriff nodded, refusing to look at Stiles. “There’s more,” he started. “Someone … someone died last night,” he gently put it.

Stiles looked at Parrish and the other deputy that he didn’t recognize. He looked at Derek. “Where’s Maria?”

Derek’s somber expression was the only thing that answered Stiles’ question.

Stiles looked at his dad before moving to exit the loft.

“Stiles—” John started as he tried to grab his son.

Stiles brushed passed Parrish, snatching his arm out of the deputy’s hold when he tried to stop him. He only made it down the first flight of stairs when he heard the crackle of a radio. He halted before his shoes touched the blood staining the stairs. He stumbled back, grabbing hold of the railing. He forced himself to lean forward, to look at what the others were doing lingering in the stairwell. He could see a sliver of the crime scene, catching sight of Maria’s vacant eyes staring back at him.

Stiles let out a loud cry as he covered his eyes, nearly screaming as he tried to get that image from his memory. He knew it was Derek that was pulling him back up the stairs.

Derek pulled Stiles against his chest, holding him there as he tried to keep him away from the others. “I’m sorry, Stiles,” he softly stated.

“I told you,” Stiles weakly uttered.

Derek tried to tighten his hold on Stiles, inevitably bending to Stiles’ will when he was shoved back.

Stiles had tears staining his face, anger twisting his features. “I told you! He’s still here!”

“Stiles,” John started, wishing he could calm him down.

“Did you even wake up, Derek?” Stiles demanded as he gestured towards the stairwell. “Did you even detect him walking into your territory—your _den_?”

Derek remained silent, because he had run through the same form of panicking when John told him what had happened.

“Because I sure as hell didn’t,” Stiles continued to yell. “He got passed my wards, Derek. I didn’t feel a damn thing!”

“Stiles, this isn’t the place to be having this conversation,” John firmly uttered, wishing Stiles wouldn’t give the deputies reason to believe Stiles lost it.

Stiles shook his head, wiping the tears away as he hurried back into the loft, rushing passed Derek.

Derek kept his distance, forcing himself to give Stiles his own space.

“There’s another thing,” John started, taking a step towards Derek. “Chris called this morning. There was an attack on his apartment—on Lydia.”

Derek looked at John, clearly unsuspecting of such news. “Is she okay?” He quickly asked. He couldn’t feel a break in the pack as he normally would.

“She’s unconscious,” John answered, clearly upset with such an outcome. “Allison managed to kill the thing that attacked them, but it disintegrated before she could get a really good look at it.”

“You should go see them at the hospital,” Derek replied. “Hear everything that they have to say, and we could meet you at the station.”

“Take care of him,” John sighed, his gaze looking to the loft. “And yourself,” he added, placing a comforting hand on Derek’s shoulder.

Derek forced himself back into the loft, wishing he could do something to comfort Stiles.

“I feel sick,” Stiles stated, running his hands through his hair as he paced. “Why is this happening?”

Derek felt the queasiness in his own stomach, wondering if it was the morning’s events or the mate bond sharing Stiles’ anxiety. “I’m not sure,” he stated, knowing it sounded pointless to say.

“Derek,” Parrish called his name from the doorway.

Derek pulled himself away from Stiles, wishing he could fix it—that their timing hadn’t led to an impending bomb. He looked at Parrish, waiting for the man to explain the evidence bag he had.

“It was left on Maria’s … I mean, the victim’s body,” Parrish weakly corrected himself, a sadness pulling at his features. He offered the bag to Derek.

Derek took the plastic bag, unfolding it. He knew what it was from shape alone, but he wanted to be certain—another rose with a black ribbon. This time, the petals were drenched in blood, the black satin of the ribbon stained through.

“Look,” Parrish heavily sighed. “Maria had radioed in before this happened. She was diverting from her post because she saw someone heading up the stairwell, towards your loft.”

Derek narrowed his gaze at the rose. “When?”

“Around eleven,” Parrish answered. He carefully watched Derek, seeing the muscle in Derek’s jaw tick.

“He was watching us,” Derek softly spoke, masking his rage well. He handed the rose back to Parrish, not wanting to destroy evidence.

“Watching you do what?” Parrish questioned. His eyes widened a little before he cleared his throat. “Oh, never mind,” he stated, remembering how Derek answered the door shirtless, and how the Sheriff said they were waiting for Stiles to dress.

“He was watching us, and then he attacked Maria,” Derek stated, his own anger and disgust twisting in his stomach.

~*~

"What did it look like?" Chris asked Allison.

Allison had her arms crossed over her chest, pacing back and forth by the door to Lydia’s hospital room. “I couldn’t really see it,” she explained. “It was there, and then gone in a flash. But whatever it was—it looked human. It had sharp claws and teeth, and it went for Lydia.”

“You beheaded the thing—a clean kill, you said,” Chris calmly concluded.

Allison looked at her father. “I beheaded the thing by pure luck,” she corrected him. “It latched on to Lydia like a leech, and let go when I threw the knife into its back.”

“It turned its back on you?” Chris asked, sounding skeptical that any hostile creature would do so in the middle of a fight.

“It was trying to take Lydia out of the room,” Allison replied, coming to a stop by the door. She peered in through the glass to see Lydia resting, keeping note of the monitor tracking her vitals. “I don’t know why it would want her, but it was like it didn’t care that I was trying to hurt it.” She shook her head. “It dropped Lydia when I threw the knife into its back, and I grabbed one of the katanas on instinct, and swung to cut its head off.”

“You did very well, Allison,” Chris stated, reaching a hand out to touch her shoulder. “No one could have done better—you saved Lydia’s life.”

“I should have been quicker,” Allison stubbornly stated.

Chris knew he couldn’t argue with Allison, having become familiarized with his own stubbornness over the years. “Lydia was translating those pages from Romania,” he changed the subject. “Did she find anything?”

“She had been translating when the thing attacked,” Allison concluded. “It had a bunch of nonsense in it—things about the local villages offering up young maidens to the vampire, only to have the women return gentrified and matured years later.”

Chris frowned at that. “That sounds pretty pointless.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you, dad,” Allison replied.

“Stay with her,” Chris instructed Allison. “Let me know the moment she’s awake, and if she remembers anything.”

Allison silently nodded, her eyes focused on Lydia’s sleeping form.

~*~

Stiles stayed in his dad’s office, knowing that the deputies were all planning something at his father’s request. He looked out the window, seeing that Derek was sitting with Parrish, giving a statement about what happened in the loft. He regretted knowing that the report was going to land on his father’s desk, detailing that Derek was in bed all night with him. He quietly turned to look at his father when he entered the office.

The Sheriff quietly observed Stiles as he folded the file under his arm. He didn’t want Stiles to catch sight of the photos inside.

“That bad, huh,” Stiles dejectedly uttered.

“I didn’t say that,” the Sheriff countered.

“You didn’t have to say it for me to know,” Stiles replied. “I get it, dad. Things are out of hand.”

The Sheriff sighed. “I don’t know what to do, kiddo,” he weakly uttered, ashamed of his admittance. “I don’t know what is going to keep you safe.”

“I don’t think I can be safe,” Stiles answered. “Nothing is stopping this guy.”

“We’ll figure something out, Stiles,” John pressed.

“Dad, there is nothing to figure out,” Stiles snapped. “William isn’t going to stop—Derek wasn’t enough to stop him, there was no chance deputies were going to stop him.”

“We need to—”

“I need to get away from all of you,” Stiles forcefully stated. “I can’t let you get hurt because of me—”

“Stop it, Stiles,” John sharply demanded. “You’re my son, and I’m not going to let you go off on your own while this psycho is stalking you.”

“We can’t win,” Stiles earnestly pressed.

“I’m not giving up,” John countered.

“Neither am I,” Derek stated from his spot in the doorway.

Stiles looked at Derek. “Don’t be filling his head with ideas,” he angrily uttered. “There isn’t anything to be ashamed of by admitting that we’re outmatched.”

“There is shame to be had for just giving up,” Derek countered. “And I’m not giving up because this coward murdered someone. I’m not letting him win.”

“I feel like he’s already won,” Stiles replied. “He keeps himself invisible, and only strikes when it serves him best.”

“Then we’ll draw him out of hiding,” Derek answered. He crossed his arms over his chest, turning to look at the Sheriff. “Do you still have that holding cell for supernatural creatures?”

Stiles looked at his dad.

John nodded. “Argent helped me with it,” he elaborated. “The cell is outlined with mountain ash—even if the bars open, nothing can walk through the cell door. It should hold anything in.”

“Or keep anything out,” Derek stated. He looked at Stiles. “We’ll need you to stay in the cell for the whole time—there is no arguing that.”

Stiles’ features widened. “You can’t expect me to just sit aside while—”

“I can and I do, Stiles,” Derek almost snapped. “You were right the first time—there is no getting away from him.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We can fight him as long as we outwit him. Every single time, he has had the upper hand in the situation—if we set a trap for him, it will be different.”

Stiles looked away from Derek when he heard his father agree. He knew he didn’t have a right to argue, not when it was the only course of action William had left them.

~*~

“To be fair, I said we should have voted on it,” Scott commented as he looked up at the ceiling in the holding area. He was laying on the bench, waiting out the hours until they were meant to rotate.

“Derek’s right, Scott,” Stiles sighed, hugging his knees against his chest tighter as he looked at the bars of the cell he sat in. “Every single time, William’s been able to outsmart us, and always be one step ahead.” He angrily scoffed. “Derek and I got so comfortable with not having that threat looming over us, that this last attack … I actually thought he was gone—that we didn’t have to worry.”

Scott sat up, scooting down the bench until he was next to the bars. “You shouldn’t have to worry, Stiles.”

“I know,” Stiles firmly uttered. “But this vampire … Scott, you didn’t see the way he looked at me,” he confessed, finally looking up at Scott. “The way he touched me— I’ve never been so fucking helpless in my life. Even with the Nogitsune.”

Scott frowned. “We’ll take care of this, Stiles. The whole pack is on it.”

“I just don’t want you guys getting hurt because of me,” Stiles countered.

“You’re our friend, Stiles—our pack,” Scott pressed. “We’re not going to abandon you because some nutjob is trying to kidnap you.”

Stiles released a heavy breath, leaning his forehead against his knees.

“We’re all ready,” Derek’s voice informed Scott. “You’re going to have to leave Stiles here if William is going to show,” he explained.

Stiles looked up at Derek, noticing that the Alpha wouldn’t look at him.

“I agreed to Stiles being used as bait, but not leaving him alone and undefended,” Scott argued.

“This was the whole point, Scott,” Derek almost snapped. “Parrish is the one keeping an eye on Stiles because he doesn’t smell like pack. The _only_ way William is going to come out of hiding is if he thinks he can get to Stiles. So far, he’s come into the loft, an Alpha’s den, without care or caution. He doesn’t care how fortified something is. We have to trick him into thinking the pack is planning something by being unified.”

“He’s right, Scott,” Stiles stated before Scott could argue. He stood up, his limbs hurting from sitting for too long as he grabbed ahold of the cell’s bars. “William isn’t stupid—he’ll know something is up if the pack is split up.”

“I don’t like it,” Scott argued.

“Trust me when I say I like this even _less_ ,” Derek growled the words out through fangs.

“He’s my best friend, Derek,” Scott snapped, his eyes burning golden.

“He’s my mate,” Derek snarled back at Scott, eyes a fiery red.

Scott hesitated before looking from Derek to Stiles.

Stiles nodded, confirming Derek’s former statement. “It’s true, buddy.”

“You never said anything,” Scott stated as he looked at Stiles.

“It’s new,” Stiles offered with a small shrug. “And a bit personal.”

“The pack should know—”

“—and they will,” Derek uttered, his shift disappearing. “When we deem it time.”

“Scott, stop pushing,” Stiles added. “Derek’s right—we’ve talked about it.” He sighed when Scott walked away, knowing that he was going to be antsy about it. “You’d think he didn’t get a new girlfriend every year of high school or something.”

Derek snorted at that. “He’s concerned about you.”

“I think we both know it’s more than that,” Stiles replied. “He’s never liked listening to you, and now he’s going go be even less inclined to until he accepts this.”

“Timing isn’t great,” Derek commented.

“Timing is never great,” Stiles countered. “But we’re both consenting adults,” he added when he realized Derek wasn’t looking at him. “Stop thinking you’re him, Derek.”

Derek finally looked at Stiles.

“I want to be with you,” Stiles firmly uttered as he leaned against the bars of the cell.

Derek took the necessary steps forward, calmly reaching his hands out to rest against the bars, avoiding reaching into the cell when he felt the pulse of magic coming from the mountain ash. There was a crackling in the air when he brushed too close to the boundary the ash created, feeling the hair on his arms raise in warning.

“No matter what, don’t open the cell,” Derek instructed Stiles. “I don’t care if one of us tells you to—don’t.”

Stiles nodded, silently reaching his hands up to cover Derek’s. “Promise me you’re not going to throw yourself into harm's way.”

Derek looked at Stiles. “I’m going to end all this tonight, Stiles,” he answered. “And when it’s over, we’ll head up north to my family’s cabin and stay there for a whole month. Just you and me.”

Stiles faintly smiled, leaning his head against the bars so his face was close to Derek, just outside the confines of the mountain ash. “Derek Hale, sweet talker.”

Derek rolled his eyes at that, leaning in to kiss Stiles’ lips. He fought against the pain of the mountain ash

Stiles tried to prolong the kiss, mad that all he could do was pointlessly lean against the bars that kept them separated. “Don’t you dare die,” he weakly uttered, a shaky breath leaving his chest at the thought as Derek pulled away.

“I’ll come back to you,” Derek answered.

Stiles leaned away from the bars, forcefully nodding his head as he clasped his hands tightly behind his back. “You better.”

~*~

Derek waited with the pack, feeling their worry building, adding to his own. It had been hours since he left Stiles at the Sheriff’s station. He was getting the usual constant updates from Parrish, that there was still nothing happening in the station. He looked at the person sitting on the ground surrounded by a mixture of mountain ash and mistletoe. He could smell Stiles’ blood mixed with the mountain ash, glad that it held true to Stiles’ word that it would create the protective barrier no matter the human that drew it. He hoped it tricked William into actually thinking a sweatshirt hooded Sheriff Stilinski was Stiles. He wondered if this plan was so foolish that it would actually work.

A branch snapping alerted Derek to something coming through the woods, seeking them out. He moved to stand from the porch steps.

Erica looked at Derek first, seeing him taking the steps toward the perimeter they had set up around the partially reconstructed Hale house. She turned her head towards the sound of another branch breaking.

A coyote’s heckles loudly howled through the preserve, the caws of ravens taking flight answered.

“He’s messing with us,” Chris stated as he moved to stand beside Derek. He looked down at his phone when it vibrated with a call from Allison. He took a step away from Derek as he answered the phone.

Erica narrowed her eyes as she looked out into the tree line, seeing a shadow run passed. She took a prepared stance when she saw a second shadow. “There’s more than one,” she angrily stated as she shifted into her Beta form.

“Allison, slow down,” Chris calmly stated. “Lydia said what? ‘Dracula’s brides’? What does that mean?”

“He has followers,” Derek uttered in understanding, remembering the bestiary’s entry about higher vampire’s turning young maidens to do their bidding—to lore humans away from villages with fake tears; to fend off angry mobs when they came looking for the creature. He realized his mistake in not considering the possibility that William could be a higher vampire.

Chris turned to look at Derek, catching sight of a form flickering by. “Watch out!” He yelled when he saw the naked form of a woman appear behind Erica and directly next to Boyd.

Erica turned, claws bared as she came face to face with the woman’s distorted features.

The woman’s face was shifted into another form—something similar to the pack’s own Beta shifts. Only her features resembled that of a bat. She held the naked form of a human woman, but the skin of her chest was taunt and rigid, built up over sharp bones that mirrored old leather armor.

“What are you?” Derek demanded of the woman, realizing that she wasn’t attacking Erica—yet.

The woman turned her head to Derek, smiling at him. “You’re him. The dog we’re to tear apart.” She looked at Boyd when he took a step towards her. She took a step back from him. “We can smell his blood,” she looked at Derek. “His Marcello’s. Master will be pleased once we deliver him.” She vanished the next second.

“He doesn’t have a use for you after that,” Derek countered, knowing she was still here.

The woman appeared on the outskirt of the perimeter, looking at Derek.

“You’re a bruxa, aren’t you?” Chris suddenly asked.

The woman hissed in Chris’ direction. “Silence, hunter.”

Derek looked at her, narrowing his gaze. She must have been watching them for some time to know who Argent was. “What do you think your master will want with you once he has his lover back?” He asked, gaining the bruxa’s attention again.

The woman took paced steps to the side, observing Derek.

“He must find you expendable,” Derek pressed. “Something worthy of throwing away if he can have his human back.”

The woman screamed, a shattering cry that forced the Betas to cover their ears from the sound.

There were suddenly half a dozen of the she-creatures appearing around the pack.

“He’ll have Marcello back, while you choke on your blood,” the bruxa shouted at Derek. She shrieked out a curse in another tongue, the other bruxae mimicking her before attacking.

~*~

It was a tricky fight—the bruxae were faster, but not unbeatable.

Derek managed to get ahold of the bruxa, tearing its heart out of its chest.

The other bruxae cried out.

It wasn’t a tricky fight after that.

~*~

“Hello?” Stiles called out when the lights went off. The power flickered before ultimately changing to the emergency power. “Parrish?” He backed up in the cell, keeping away from the bars completely.

No one answered him. He started to panic, wondering if something happened to the pack.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice broke through the silence. Derek ran into the back holding cell to where Stiles was. There was a visible bloodstain on his shirt, evident even through the dim emergency lighting.

“Derek,” Stiles sighed in relief, getting closer to the bars.

“We need to go,” Derek quickly stated, falling a short distance from the bars.

“What?” Stiles questioned. “Why? Where’s the rest of the pack?”

“There are more vampires,” Derek explained, his words panting out. “We have to get you out of here.”

“More vampires?” Stiles asked in confusion.

“They know you’re here,” Derek elaborated. “We need to get you some place safer—better fortified than this.”

Stiles shook his head, trying to think of a place. “Derek, we should go to Deaton’s—”

“Open the door, and we can go,” Derek instructed.

Stiles nodded, quickly digging the key out of his pocket. His hands were trembling as he hurried to unlock the cell. He hesitated, staring down at the key as his thoughts raced. He felt his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

“Come on, Stiles, we have to hurry,” Derek pressed.

Stiles looked up at Derek, observing him carefully. He remembered Derek’s last instruction to him. He couldn’t believe he was even entertaining the idea of questioning Derek’s presence. He forced himself to ask the one thing he knew no one else knew.

“What was the last thing you said to Laura?”

Derek stared back at Stiles. “What?” He incredulously asked, looking at Stiles as if he had lost it.

“Laura,” Stiles firmly stated the eldest Hale’s name. “What was the last thing you said to her?”

Derek looked taken aback that Stiles would ask such a thing. “I don’t— I can’t remember—

“Your sister!” Stiles snapped. “ _What_ did you say to her?”

“We don’t have time—”

“I’m not opening this cell until you tell me!” Stiles shouted at him, his whole body shaking now. He tried to fight off the creeping feeling that he was alone in a room with a stranger wearing Derek’s face. “What was the last thing you said to your sister, Derek.”

“ _I love you_!” Derek loudly stated back. “I told her that I loved her, alright?”

Stiles’ hands fell away from the door, his stomach twisting. He took a stumbling step back, pressing into the cement. “What did you do to Derek?”

Derek looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you kill him?” Stiles’ voice trembled, tears burning his eyes. “Where is he?”

“Stiles—”

“You’re not Derek Hale!” Stiles yelled at the imposter.

A silence expanded throughout the room.

“That’s not what he said to her,” Stiles pressed on. “He said—”

“Nothing,” a voice answered from the shadows of the hallway leading to the holding cells.

Stiles looked, catching sight of another Derek standing in the doorway.

“I said nothing to her,” Derek continued. “I was mad that she was coming back here, so I locked myself in my room and ignored her goodbyes,” he added. “It’s my biggest regret,” he stated as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles faintly smiled through his fear, knowing that it was the real Derek.

“Of course you’d have a pathetic story like that,” the fake Derek’s voice slowly slipped into a lighter tone laced with an accent. The visage of Derek melted away to reveal that it was none other than William. “Did my bruxae not play with you enough?” He questioned Derek, turning his back to Stiles for the first time.

“They’re dead,” Derek replied. “Not that you’d care.”

“They’re mindless beasts,” William simply answered. “I’ll find more.”

“No, you won’t,” Derek countered.

“Is that a threat?” William asked, a laugh in his voice. “You’re not a match for me, dog.”

“We’ll see,” Derek answered. His fangs elongated as he bared them, a snarl working up from his chest as he shifted.

Stiles clutched the keys in his hand as he watched William lunge at Derek. He wanted to look away, to pretend that his mind wasn’t on edge. He was terrified of the outcome, knowing that William was capable of wounding Derek—knowing that he could kill him.

William vanished, bursting into a cloud of black billowing smoke.

Derek remained still when he realized what happened. He looked at Stiles, seeing how terrified and alarmed he was. He closed his eyes, focusing on his hearing, listening for the vampire. His ears were practically twitching as he cancelled out all other sounds.

There were echoes coming from deeper within the station’s walls—fans circulating the air, the hum of the emergency lighting, the barks of the K-9 unit.

In the flash of an instant, the smoke appeared once more.

This time, behind Derek.

“Derek!” Stiles yelled when he saw William’s face just over Derek’s shoulder.

But Derek surprised William this time.

Derek had heard William moving, and knew he could only hurt the vampire when he solidified again. He whirled around in time, a clawed hand sweeping out to grab ahold of William’s vulnerable heart, just as the vampire solidified.

Stiles stared in relief as he listened to William cry out in pain.

Derek shoved William up against the concrete wall as he cornered him, hand buried in William’s materialized chest as his claws dug down into the vampire’s heart. He loudly roared at William when the vampire hissed and clawed at him.

“He will always be—”

Derek tore the vampire’s heart out of his chest—just like he’d done to the bruxa. He let William sink down to the ground, listening to the vampire’s vitals fade. He looked at the old, blackened organ, turning his bloodied hand to inspect the heart. “He’ll never suffer you again,” he stated. He watched as William struggled to move against the dying of his body, only dropping the heart down to the ground once he was certain the vampire had expired.

Derek turned to Stiles, walking over to the cell.

“My dad— Parrish—” Stiles quickly rambled.

“Parrish is unconscious, but alive,” Derek answered Stiles’ concerns, standing before the bars as he waited for Stiles’ trembling hands to unlock the cell. “Your dad is safe—working with Chris to come up with a feasible excuse for the mauled bodies in the preserve.”

Stiles fiddled with the keys, his adrenaline still running high. He lightly laughed. “It’s a good thing you’re here, so they can’t blamed you for it,” he uttered, looking up at Derek with a smile on his face.

Stiles’ eyes widened in terror as he started to scream Derek’s name in warning.

Derek was about to turn when sharp pains tore into his stomach. He wobbled from the excruciating pain and sudden attack, his stamina breaking as he fell against the bars. The repelling force of the mountain ash burned against Derek’s entire being, like sharp needles prickling his skin all over.

“You think I need a _heart_?” William hissed, a laughter in his voice. “Like some dirty _bruxa_?”

“Let him go!” Stiles shouted at William, fear gripping him when he saw Derek’s blood pooling on the ground between them. He could feel the blood seeping into his chucks. He gripped at the bars, desperate to do something.

William ignored Stiles’ plea, turning his hands as he twisted his claws up into Derek’s stomach.

Derek yelled in pain as he gripped at the cell’s bars, not caring about the pain from the mountain ash. He could feel his insides trying to heal, but William’s claws wouldn’t let him. William’s nails lacerated Derek’s insides, tearing up under his ribcage, as if in search of his heart.

“I’ll open the door—I’ll go with you,” Stiles quickly offered, yelling the words at William. He realized it might have been too late when William didn’t even react to such a statement. “William,” he softly stated his name, knowing that some cord was struck when the vampire’s attention immediately turned to him.

Stiles’ whole body was shaking. He could hear the dripping of Derek’s blood hitting the cell’s floor. He felt sick from the coppery smell. But worse, he knew he couldn’t hide from William’s gaze now that he said his name. “Please,” he softly begged. “Please, don’t kill him.”

“He deserves a painful death,” William countered. “He touched you— _defiled_ you, Marcello.”

Stiles weakly nodded, trying to show agreement with William. “But I still care for him—”

“He’s a dog!” William yelled back.

“You left me alone!” Stiles shouted back at him. He was surprised to see William’s features soften some. “You— you left me alone, William.”

“Stiles—” Derek’s words broke off as he wheezed in a sharp breath of pain. He tightened his hold on the bars. The metal yawned under his grip, the mountain ash burning his hands as the magic crackled in defiance. He tried to will his chest to move with William’s grip to lessen the damage.

“William, stop!” Stiles begged. “Please, William, stop it—you’re going to kill him!” He pleaded through his tears, his hands squeezed through the bars to touch Derek’s face.

William tightened his hold on Derek’s ribs, his claws lacerating Derek’s stomach open as he pulled hard on Derek’s ribcage. “Open the door, Marcello,” he sharply ordered, his fangs lisping his words some. “Or I’ll gut him open right in front of you—and this time, he won’t heal.”

“Please, William,” Stiles begged again. “If you kill him, I’ll never love you—it will be tainted by this memory.”

William looked at Stiles. “If I let this dog live,” he started.

“I’ll open the cell,” Stiles finished. “And I’ll go with you—just the two of us.”

William only hesitated for a second before accepting Stiles’ offer.

Derek dropped under the sudden relief of pressure on his ribcage, William retracting his claws. He fell to the ground, trying to press the wounds together in hopes he’d heal faster. His movements were all struggles, but he couldn’t stop trying to get up—he had to protect Stiles.

The cell door yawned under the force of Stiles swinging it open the moment he got the key turned all the way.

“Derek,” Stiles called his name, moving to kneel beside him. “Derek, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“Get back. In the cell,” Derek fought to get the words out.

Stiles shook his head, moving to cradle Derek’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he weakly repeated. He knew Derek would be upset, but he couldn’t sit by and watch it happen. He pressed a kiss to Derek’s lips, not caring if William saw.

Derek tried to reach for Stiles when he felt him being ripped away.

Stiles cried out when William grabbed his hair, yanking him back from Derek. He threw the small handful of mistletoe he managed to rummage from his pockets directly into William’s face. He stumbled when William jostled his hold on him, the mistletoe just pissing William off instead of affecting him.

Derek grunted in pain as he moved to stand, collapsing in his attempt to get up when he heard Stiles scream in pain.

William pulled Stiles in close, cradling Stiles against his chest. He looked at Derek, his fangs bared as he hissed a foreign curse at him. “You’ll never see him again, dog,” he uttered.

“I’m going to kill you,” Derek darkly threatened. His eyes dashed over to Stiles, seeing the tears falling from his eyes as he struggled against William’s hold.

Stiles’ hands clawed at William’s, trying to pry them off. He released a frightened hiccup when William wrapped his hand around his throat, sharp claws piercing at his skin.

“You’re going to die here,” William replied. “I won’t kill you, like he wants. But you won’t survive long enough for healers to help you.” He made sure to place Stiles on display for Derek as he held Stiles’ back against his chest. He tightened his arm around Stiles’ waist, his clawed hand moving up Stiles’ throat to press his head away—exposing Stiles’ stretch of neck. He stared into Derek’s eyes, his lips ghosting over the mate bite Derek had placed there. “You’re going to die knowing that Marcello was never yours, but mine.” He bit down into Stiles’ mate bond. He tightened his jaw, biting down harder, when Stiles’ struggle and Derek’s growls turned into painful whines.

Derek felt as if his chest was collapsing under a great pressure—his mate mark was being erased, and he couldn’t do a damned thing. He could feel his Alpha spark unraveling from the threat to his mate.

Stiles’ body went limp in William’s hold, the neurotoxins working quickly to immobilize him.

William picked Stiles up with ease, arranging him in a bridal carry as he left Derek behind to die a slow death.

The last thing Derek saw before blacking out was William’s retreating form, and Stiles’ eyes opened wide with terrified tears looking back at him over the vampire’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Witcher feelings are always attacking me, I added in some lore about bruxae. Bruxae are lesser female vampires. And for these purposes, I've twisted their lore to be similar to the brides of Dracula.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and are prepared for the end. The next chapter reveals more of William's relationship with Marcello, and how Stiles is going to survive this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go :) I hope you enjoy! <3

“Do you remember the first day we met?” William asked, his hand reaching out to caress Stiles’.

Stiles didn’t try to pull his hand back—he still had the bruises from William’s fingertips grabbing him the last time. He closed his eyes, trying to think of something besides William’s touch. He was exhausted, his body ready to shut down. He wasn’t sure how long had passed since the events at the station. He had passed out twice now from William feeding off him—he wondered if the bites were ever going to heal.

“That day in the market place,” William pressed.

Stiles lightly shook his head, startling when William angrily hit the table. “Getting mad won’t make me remember it,” he softly stated, opening his eyes to look at William.

“You were so soft spoken,” William commented, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “Those peasants who worked your family’s vineyards—they told me your name was Marcello,” he shook his head. “They wanted me to embarrass myself in front of you—to embarrass you.” He turned Stiles’ hand upwards, displaying the soft curve of Stiles’ palm. He ran his fingertips over Stiles’ skin, his eyes tracking the blood pulsing beneath. He lifted Stiles’ hand, placing his lips to Stiles’ wrist.

Stiles stared at William, unable to do anything but watch and pray that he’d stop at the soft kiss he placed there.

“You flushed such a pretty red,” William continued, his fangs peaking out from beneath his lips. “Your father called me a foolish idiot. He blamed your mother for her pale skin.”

Stiles tried to angle his arm away from William’s mouth, even going as far as cupping William’s cheek in the palm of his hand.

William closed his eyes. “You later told me that you enjoyed the way I said your name—that I spoke a life into it that you felt missing.” He opened his eyes to look at Stiles, his irises reflecting a sharp silver once again. “I killed those peasants—the ones that wanted you embarrassed.” He released a weak laugh. “They didn’t find it funny when I tore their limbs off.”

Stiles tried to stop trembling. He softly pleaded a weak, “No,” turning his hand away from William when the vampire tried to sink his fangs into his wrist. He cried out in pain when William tightened his hold, his arm twisting to offer up the soft curve of his forearm for William to bite.

William easily sunk his teeth down into Stiles’ soft flesh, reluctantly drinking only a few mouthfuls before Stiles hit him. He shoved Stiles back, knocking him out of the chair. He abruptly stood from his own chair, kicking it back as he moved to stand over Stiles. “You let that fucking dog bite you,” he loudly accused, his voice seething with anger. “But you act as if it’s a pain to give me but a taste.”

Stiles tried to crawl back, away from William. He was too weak to get back up, already dizzy from the blood loss of all the other bites. “You’re draining me,” he argued, wishing he was further from William. He couldn’t fight back when William grabbed his arm and pulled him back up. His head lulled, his mind fuzzy. “I’m tired,” he uttered.

William held Stiles against his chest. “We’ll sleep for now,” he softly instructed, his anger suddenly gone as quick as it onset. “We’ll talk more once you’ve rested.” He pressed a kiss into Stiles’ hair, moving them towards the old mattress that served as a makeshift bed in the condemned house.

Stiles was too weak to argue, knowing he was losing more strength when his body sagged with exhaustion as sleep overtook him. There was a place in the back of his mind that was overly aware of William’s body pressed up against his own.

~*~

“How did this happen?” John asked, his gaze focused on Derek’s unconscious form.

Peter frowned, turning his back towards Derek as he paced. “He’s dying,” he simply put.

Derek was hooked up to the hospital’s monitors, IVs and censors plastered over his body. There was a feeding tube and oxygen hose keeping the vital functions of Derek’s body stabilized.

It hurt Peter to look at Derek in such a state, recalling his own recovery process.

“It feels like he’s already dead,” Boyd countered from his seat next to Derek’s bedside. He looked at Peter. “How the hell do we know that you have nothing to do with this?”

Peter scoffed. “Yes, a dastardly deed indeed, but not mine own,” he stated. “If I wanted the Alpha spark, it would be a terrible idea for me to let it die with Derek.”

“Doesn’t mean you weren’t counting on this,” Erica angrily countered.

Isaac kept holding Derek’s hand, draining as much pain as he could, desperate for something to change.

“Derek and Stiles said they were mates,” Scott stated, looking at the others. He turned to Peter when none of them seemed to know what he was getting at. “Did you know?”

Peter looked at Scott, feeling the pack’s attention focused on him. “Yes,” he simply answered. He turned to John. “I apologize for not telling you, of all people. But Derek threatened to take my head off if I didn’t mind my own business.”

“Is it like … soul mates?” John asked, uncertain about the implication of what Stiles and Derek being mates truly meant.

“Essentially, yes,” Peter answered. “It’s the werewolf equivalent of being bond to someone—for life.”

“And you knew about it the whole time,” Scott accused.

“I knew about it, because Derek asked me about it,” Peter sharply replied.

“That’s why they broke up,” Lydia concluded, her arms crossed in her hospital bathrobe. Part of her was annoyed that Allison insisted on her staying to be looked over—she was happy to have stayed when she realized her room was across the hall from Derek’s. “Stiles had said he found information about the mate bond.”

Peter nodded. “Derek was afraid of giving it to Stiles.”

“Why?” Scott asked.

Peter arched an eyebrow at Scott before exasperatingly gesturing towards Derek’s comatose state. “To avoid such an outcome, obviously.”

“It’s been three days, and we have no leads,” John interjected. “Derek’s still unconscious and barely alive—why?”

“Because he couldn’t protect his mate,” Peter simply answered, as if it was obvious. “The Alpha spark reacts to the werewolf’s mate. If the mate is healthy, mentally and physically, the Alpha spark blossoms with unknown potential.” He paused, his nose wrinkling as he thought of the opposite. “Should the Alpha’s mate be injured or killed … well, the spark gives itself over to the wolf. And the human becomes feral as a result.”

“So, if Derek wakes up,” Scott started. “He’ll be feral?”

“Not necessarily,” Peter corrected him. “If Stiles is alive, Derek won’t be completely lost.”

“And if Stiles dies,” John firmly started the other option, waiting for Peter to fill in the blanks.

Peter looked at John, catching the anguish hidden beneath the man’s glare. “Then Derek may never wake up, and will likely die within a fortnight.”

“How are we going to find Stiles?” Erica pressed, not wanting to think about that outcome. “None of us are as good at tracking scents as Derek,” she pointed out. “And he happened to be especially good at finding Stiles.”

“We have search parties out,” John hopelessly answered. “So far, nothing, but we’re not giving up.”

“Here’s hoping for a miracle then,” Peter replied, looking at Derek.

~*~

“The height of Carnevale di Venezia,” William softly spoke, his fingertips caressing Stiles. “You smiled so much that night,” his thumb brushed against Stiles’ lips, pressing the tip between his swollen lips. He leaned forward, thoroughly kissing Stiles before biting down on his bottom lip. “Your laughter,” he fondly uttered.

Hot tears welled in Stiles’ eyes as he blinked furiously, trying to keep his vision from blurring. He tried wiggling his limbs, even with knowing that the neurotoxin was still coursing through his veins.

It wasn’t the first time that night Stiles was on the brink of a panic attack. He could feel his mind closing down as every became too much—a sensory overload. He had been terrified when he woke up in different clothes, realizing that William must have changed him in his sleep. He wondered if he had woken up, and William just erased it from memory.

The clothes were older in fashion, but Stiles wasn’t sure about when they were made. The material seemed too new to be something William pulled from a grave. But the clothes were definitely made to match William’s own—a mock attempt at dressing it up to pretend it was real.

“You wanted that foolish venetian mask,” William uttered, a soft laughter in his voice as he remembered the night. “Made by some high-to-do artesian that you read about in your books.” His hand moved to pull at the strings of Stiles’ trousers, his fingers nimble and quick in their work. “We made love out on the canal, some stolen gondola serving as our bed,” he softly laughed.

“Please,” Stiles’ voice croaked, his body twitching into a turn away from William’s hands. He was trying to hurl himself away, wishing he could do more than just cry and plead for mercy William wouldn’t give.

William softly hushed him, pressing another kiss to Stiles’ lips. “This will be over soon enough,” he began. “Once that dog’s bond is broken, I’ll be able to correct the wrong we suffered so long ago,” he explained. “Though I would prefer you to participate in this,” he commented as he looked down at the simple work he made of Stiles’ trousers. “I suppose we can wait,” he uttered in disappointment as he carelessly redid the ties of Stiles’ trousers. He gently turned Stiles onto his side, pulling him in close to his chest. He pressed his fingertips into Derek’s bond bite, causing Stiles to wince in pain. “Once it fades, I’ll be able to turn you, Marcello,” he stated, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ neck. “And then no one will ever take you away from me again.”

“I want to stay human,” Stiles forcefully pleaded, his voice rough and unused.

“I know,” William softly spoke. “But this is the only way to undo what that animal did,” he explained. “You’ll be safer—much safer, _cuore mio_.”

~*~

Stiles waited for the neurotoxins to wear off, remaining still even an hour after the effects were gone. He wanted to be sure he had his full strength back. He closed his eyes, focusing his magic deep within. He conjured forth a small butterfly, its wings black with electric blue accents. He had only ever performed the spell once before, and he hoped it was as successful as before.

“Find me,” Stiles whispered to the butterfly, holding his breath when he felt William’s arm instinctively pull him closer. He was relieved when the vampire hadn’t reacted, knowing he was still asleep. “Derek,” he barely spoke his name. “Please, find me,” he repeated.

Stiles parted his lips, blowing out air to send the butterfly off. He could only wait and pray it reached Derek in time.

~*~

Derek was sitting in the middle of the blinding light. He couldn’t tell where he was or what was happening. His senses were blunted, his memories faded.

All he could remember was Stiles being taken away, and that weakened him every time he thought about it. He could feel himself slipping away, further and further into the unknown.

Derek caught sight of the butterfly, the one colorful thing among the white room. He moved to stand, taking calculated steps towards the small creature.

The butterfly hurriedly flapped its wings, dancing around Derek’s head as if to announce that it had found what it was looking for.

Derek reached a head out towards the butterfly, knowing it must have been something important.

The butterfly gently lowered itself down to Derek’s hand, perching on Derek’s knuckle.

An electric shock ran up Derek’s arm and pierced into his heart.

“Derek,” Stiles’ voice echoed out in the room. “Please, find me.”

“Stiles,” Derek weakly spoke his name.

The butterfly wilted into Derek’s hand, the inkiness of its wings staining Derek’s skin.

The white light of the room teetered out, blinking as it faded. Suddenly, Derek was in the loft.

“Derek,” Stiles softly spoke his name.

Derek turned, seeing Stiles standing by the couch. He didn’t waste a second, rushing for him. He took Stiles into his arms, holding him in a warm embrace.

Stiles hugged Derek back, clutching onto him as he closed his eyes.

“What’s happening?” Derek asked, uncertain about everything that was going on.

“William has me,” Stiles answered. “He has me, and he’s planning on turning me,” he tearfully spoke.

“No,” Derek stubbornly countered, his hold on Stiles tightening—like a child who was told to give up something they cherished.

“He’s weakening the bond,” Stiles pressed on. “I can feel it fading and I’m terrified.” He pulled back far enough to look Derek in the eyes. “You need to wake up, Derek.”

“I …” Derek looked at the loft, seeing how warped the surroundings were. He hadn’t realized how fake it looked at first, too focused on Stiles’ presence. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Stiles urged him. He cupped Derek’s face in his hands. “You are strong enough, Derek. But most importantly, our lives are hanging in the balance.”

Derek brushed his knuckles across Stiles’ cheek, catching sight of the butterfly’s mark still inked on his skin. “I’m too weak right now,” he explained. “I won’t be able to find you in time.”

Stiles caressed Derek’s hand, his fingertips running over the butterfly’s mark. “This will lead you to me—no matter what trick William tries, it will lead you back to me.”

Stiles suddenly winced, taking in a sharp breath of pain. “He’s awake,” he fearfully stated. “He’s biting me right now.”

A growl started to grow from Derek’s chest.

“I need you, now, Derek,” Stiles pressed, wincing once more. “Find me, sourwolf. Find me, and save me.”

And just like that, Stiles vanished, the environment around them melting and crumbling away.

Derek howled, like a wounded animal.

~*~

Stiles woke on his back, his gaze staring up at the ceiling. He swore he felt the pain creeping up his leg, enough to interrupt his sleep. A sharp prickling resurfaced before all feeling faded again. When he looked down, he saw Derek lounging between his spread legs.

Stiles’ heart leapt at the sight. He believed himself to be dreaming. That he was remembering the other night, when Derek pressed adoring kisses to every part of Stiles’ skin.

But something felt unmistakably wrong.

Stiles couldn’t move his body in the slightest. He couldn’t feel anything. He caught sight of his trousers pulled down around his ankles, not recalling when Derek had pushed them down. “Something’s wrong,” he mumbled. He had just been dreaming of Derek, but this felt different— _wrong_.

“Stop,” Stiles breathily begged when he saw Derek place a kiss to a welting bruise, just on the inside of his thigh. “No,” he sharply uttered, his arms too heavy to move the way he wanted them to. He tried to hit at Derek’s head when he saw his teeth grazing his skin. He saw fangs beneath Derek’s lips—but they didn’t look like Derek’s normally did.

Derek was acting weird. He wouldn’t keep going if Stiles said no—he wouldn’t be ignoring Stiles’ concerns.

Then the iciness sunk deep into the base of Stiles’ skull. He wasn’t with Derek.

“Stop!” Stiles yelled in a panic, crying out when William sunk his fangs into his thigh. “No, stop it! Stop!” He sobbed, trying to move, only for the neurotoxins to spread quicker.

A wet hiccup sobbed out of Stiles’ chest when William’s lips left him. “You’re not … him,” he weakly cried, feeling vulnerable and afraid, even as William redressed him.

“He’s dead, Marcello,” William’s voice forcefully stated, placing a lingering kiss to the top of Stiles’ thigh before replacing the trousers to cover Stiles once more. “You just needed that reminder.”

“Why—”

“You moaned that dog’s name in your sleep,” William angrily snapped. “I needed to remind you—to whom you belong to.”

“I’m not Marcello,” Stiles answered, not caring for William’s anger. “And I’m not yours.”

William wrapped a clawed hand around Stiles’ throat, squeezing tightly enough to lightly choke Stiles.

There was nothing Stiles could do but lay there, blinking away the tears burning his eyes at the pain of losing oxygen.

“Don’t ever say that again,” William whispered, his tone furious despite how softly he spoke the words.

Stiles sputtered for breath when William finally let go of him.

~*~

Peter turned to look at Derek’s room when he heard it. He moved to stand.

“What is it?” Chris asked, turning away from the nurse.

“The monitors,” Peter explained. He ran around the corner, heading to Derek’s room.

“Derek, don’t!” Melissa yelled from within the room.

But it was too late, Derek was awake and tearing at the IVs in his arm, making a move to yank the tubes out of his mouth next.

Peter narrowly avoided Derek vomiting once his nephew carelessly pulled the feeding tube out of his own throat. He stepped to the side of the mess on the floor, looking at Melissa. “Well, that could have gone better,” he dryly commented, looking back at Derek.

“You could have caused serious damage to your insides,” Melissa harshly snapped at Derek as she moved on the other side of the bed, clicking off the monitor’s alerts.

“I heal,” was all Derek tiredly uttered, moving to stand from his bed. “I have to get out of here.”

“Okay, stop for a second,” Peter quickly stated as he stepped around the mess on the hospital room’s floor, placing his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Your stomach has barely healed all the way, and you’ve been out for weeks.”

“Exactly why I have to get up,” Derek angrily snapped at Peter.

“Derek—”

“Have you found Stiles?” Derek harshly demanded as he glared at Peter. He knew the answer without Peter speaking. “And that’s why I’m getting up.”

Melissa was in Derek’s way of standing, her hand grabbing Derek’s.

Derek was about to pull his hand away when he saw the inked stain of a blue and black butterfly on the back of his hand.

The butterfly’s wings were spread wide just below and between the knuckles of his forefinger and thumb. Its colors were vibrant and almost life like—just as it had looked in Derek’s dream.

“Did Stiles …” Melissa looked at Derek.

Derek just looked back at Melissa, unsure what she was about to ask.

“That wasn’t there earlier,” Peter commented.

“Stiles used to draw butterflies like these,” Melissa softly explained, releasing her hold on Derek’s hand. “After Claudia got sick, he started getting obsessed with fantasy—folklore, really. He used to draw butterflies all the time—decorated her hospital room with them.”

It wasn’t a dream. It really was Stiles’ call for help.

~*~

Stiles startled awake at the loud noise of something heavy being dropped down next to him. He turned, catching sight of William’s retreating back. He dared to look at the thing William carelessly discarded next to him.

A body.

Stiles scooted away from the body, staring in helpless horror as he waited to see if the person was breathing. He tried to convince himself that the small movement of the man’s chest wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

“Did you spread your legs for more than just the dog?” William’s voice cut through Stiles’ thoughts.

Stiles turned to look at William, unsure what he meant.

“So many of those bloodbags are scouring the streets for you,” William continued. “But this one—this one has had its eye on you for a while.”

Stiles’ eyes followed William’s gesture, looking back at the unconscious man. He recognized the uniform as belonging to a deputy, but he wasn’t sure who was wearing it. “I don’t recognize him,” he softly answered, unable to recognize who it was through their bloodied face.

“He thought himself just like the female,” William uttered.

Stiles looked at William.

“She stunk of you,” William growled.

“Maria,” Stiles barely whispered. “You killed her because … because she carried my scent?”

“She tried to stop me!” William hissed at Stiles.

“She was like a sister to me!” Stiles dared to raise his voice, anger and grief tightening in his chest.

“And this one?” William demanded as he gestured towards the body.

“I don’t know who he is,” Stiles firmly uttered, pressing a hand to his forehead. His mind was still fuzzy from his lack of sleep and blood loss.

“That pig that’s fond of you,” William angrily stated.

Stiles’ brow crinkled. If William meant cop, then … _Jason_. His father must have been closer than he originally thought. He could be out of William’s grasp in the hour. The prospect of freedom was intoxicating to his senses.

“He’ll be the first of many to die,” William concluded.

Stiles looked at William, pushing all thoughts of his own freedom to the back of his mind. “What?”

“Your bond with the dog is nearly erased,” William explained, moving to pace some. “Once it is gone, I’ll turn you.”

Stiles felt his mouth run dry. “No,” he dared to argue.

William was on him in a second.

William’s claws pierced the skin of Stiles’ neck, his hand wrapped around Stiles’ throat as if it was nothing. He dragged Stiles up from his sitting position, holding him close. “Don’t presume that you’re allowed to argue this,” he growled through fangs. “You gave yourself to me, Marcello, and this is how it ends—together, side by side for eternity.”

Stiles coughed and sputtered for breath when William released him. He massaged against the ache of the bruise now forming underneath his throat’s skin. “I’ll walk into the sunlight, then,” he defiantly announced. “I’d rather be burnt to ash than stuck beside you.”

William drew in a deep, aggravated breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the motion. “You won’t feel that way once you’re turned,” he lowly uttered. “You’ll crave the kill—you’ll love being what we are.” He turned to look at Stiles. “You’ll be more your old self than you are now, something I will relish greatly.”

~*~

Derek hastily got dressed, ignoring the concerned words of the doctors. He winced in minor pain when the stitches in his stomach pulled. He knew he’d heal—he _had_ to heal if he wanted to save Stiles from William.

John met Derek outside the hospital, having rushed over when Melissa called to inform him of Derek’s condition. “You think this is smart?” He asked, despite opening the passenger door of the patrol car for Derek.

“I think it’s the only way,” Derek replied as he climbed into the vehicle. He could already feel his stomach realigning and mending itself back together.

John waited to reply until he got into the car with Derek. “Melissa said something about Stiles sending you a message.”

Derek silently held up his hand, placing the butterfly on display for John to inspect.

John silently reached out, pulling Derek’s hand closer. “It looks like the ones Stiles used to draw for Claudia,” he admitted.

“It woke me up,” Derek replied when John released his hand. “Stiles told me it would lead me back to him, no matter what trick William tried to play.” He drew in a steady series of breaths. “I’m ready to find him, no matter the cost,” he admitted. His wolf was going insane since he left Stiles in the Sheriff’s station.

And now, his wolf wanted William’s blood. Derek was all too happy to agree.

“How will we find him?” John asked as he started the car.

Derek tried to focus on his bond with Stiles, feeling the small strings of their attachment still grounded despite the fact that the bond was disappearing. “My senses are coming back to me, but William’s going to try and keep us apart,” he explained. “A cloaking of some kind,” he guessed. His stomach soured some when he felt Stiles’ panic rise.

There was something about static, though. Something about waves, wobbly lines being drawn in Derek’s vision. The butterfly burned at the thought, something telling Derek that he needed to try the radio.

“Sheriff,” the radio suddenly crackled to life.

Derek knew it wasn’t a coincidence.

“Go ahead, Mary-Jo,” the Sheriff answered the dispatcher’s voice.

“Deputy Mandel hasn’t reported in,” Mary-Jo answered over the radio. “He was out on patrol by the Preserve,” she continued. “Parrish said he turned his back for maybe a few seconds, and then he vanished.”

Derek looked at John.

John shared a knowing look with Derek. “Tell Parrish to stay there—we’re heading to him,” he stated into the radio’s receiver.

“Will do, Sheriff,” Mary-Jo answered.

~*~

Stiles released a pained gasp as he shoved himself back from William. He made a weak attempt to wipe the blood from his lips, focusing on getting away from William. He screamed when William grabbed him, dragged across the old floorboards before being hauled up.

William grabbed Stiles’ chin in his hand, forcing Stiles to look at him. “You’ll have to get used to this, Marcello,” he lowly growled.

Stiles spit what blood he could in William’s face.

The satisfaction it brought Stiles was worth William’s anger.

~*~

Derek continually flipped through the Sheriff’s radio, his ears concentrating on all the noises in the background. He was working hard on sorting through all the sounds when he heard it. “There!”

The Sheriff almost slammed on the brakes when Derek spoke. “There, what?” He nearly demanded.

“It’s Jason’s radio,” Derek answered, turning his head to look at the woods passing by. “Pull over,” he demanded.

John carefully pulled the vehicle over to a stop, keeping the flashing lights as a warning to any passerby. “He’s here somewhere?” He asked.

“Radio for backup,” Derek answered as he climbed out of the car. “And an ambulance,” he added, his eyes still on the tree line. He pulled his shirt off over his head as he started to get undressed.

“Derek,” John started, unfortunately having grown accustomed to the werewolf custom of disrobing in the strangest of places and times. “You have to tell me what the hell is going on, son.”

Derek tore his gaze away from the trees, finally looking at John. “Stiles’ heartbeat,” he finally offered. “It’s weak, but I can feel it. A few miles into the woods, that’s where Jason’s radio is. It’s in the same room as Stiles.”

John looked at the radio before looking back at Derek.

“I’ll have a head start, but every second is going to count, John,” Derek explained. “I’ll have enough time to kill William, but Stiles is … he needs medical attention as soon as possible.”

Derek turned towards the woods, allowing his shift to take over.

It was always wonderful, and agonizing, when the shift took over. There was a reason Alphas never stayed in their true form for long. The shedding of human skin in favor of a pelt to run beneath the moonlight—it was liberating. It was the closest thing to absolute freedom that Derek could think of, which was what had always terrified him.

The freedom wasn’t what the wolf craved tonight, though.

The wolf was angry—wounded and whining for its mate. It wanted Stiles back, and it wanted the vampire to pay with its life.

For once, Derek didn’t fight the wolf. It was more than right—the easiest it had ever been to give in to the animal. They wanted the same thing.

John watched as the Alpha took off into the night. He gave Derek a few moments, trying to take a calm breath. “I trust you,” he stated, confident that Derek could hear him despite the distance.

It was the only thing John could really muster to say, knowing his heart was going to be in his throat for the next half hour.

John tightened his hold on the radio receiver before holding the button down. “This is Sheriff Stilinski requesting immediate backup.” He paused before adding, “And an ambulance.”

~*~

Stiles fought for every breath. He was sprawled out on the floor, his fingers barely twitching as he tried to move them despite the neurotoxins. His eyes focused on Jason’s radio.

Stiles had managed to turn the device on while William was out—the neurotoxins wearing off quicker than they normally had. Part of Stiles wondered if he had started to develop an immunity to them. He had left the device almost off, knowing the volume was next to impossible to hear. He managed to clip the radio receiver on, knowing that it would be broadcasting to anyone listening. And he could only hope it was Derek.

Stiles released a tense whimper when William’s fangs sunk back into his neck. His vision was already blurred, his breathing shallow. He knew he was dying from the blood loss.

“Once your heart stops,” William’s breath ghosted over Stiles’ lips. “You’ll be Marcello once more.”

Stiles tried to speak, his voice cracking out in weak groan—like that from a grave. Tears stung his eyes as he thought about never seeing his dad again, or the pack. Or Derek.

“It’s only the body that dies, Marcello,” William stated, brushing Stiles’ tears away.

Something sparked in Stiles’ chest—an anger, and a fierce protectiveness that warmed Stiles’ body.

“Der …” Stiles croaked. “Derek,” he stated louder.

A loud howl tore through the night.

Stiles was looking at William when he saw the animal barrel through the side of decaying building, tearing William away from Stiles.

There were loud roars and heavy growls exchanged. But Stiles couldn’t see the raging fight.

Stiles felt his teeth itch with bloodlust, a joyous feeling blossoming in his chest when he heard the sound of claws tearing through flesh.

Another howl cracked through the night—a wolf calling out to its pack, rejoicing in their victory. Smaller howls answered the wolf.

“Derek,” Stiles weakly called out.

Derek was by Stiles’ side in an instance, the Alpha picking him up with great care and ease. He was still shifted, fur covered in blood as he cradled Stiles in his arms. He ran for where he had parted from the Sheriff.

Stiles remembered movement, as if he was floating his way across the Preserve and closer to flashing lights and the sounds of his father arguing with people about hurrying.

Stiles thought it was funny that he could see the butterflies he had always drawn of his mother. Black and electric blue wings battering away. He could feel the warmth of his mother’s hugs. He felt light as he pictured Derek’s smile. He had to see that smile again.

Weightless. He felt weightless as the white light consumed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can probably tell why I added another chapter ... happy things coming up, I promise ;)
> 
> Side note about the butterflies: in many cultures, but most popularly seen in older Japanese culture, butterflies are closely linked to departed spirits; a type of guide or conduit between souls. For Stiles and Derek, it strengthens the bond between them, and allows Derek to find Stiles.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles was focused on his drawing, his crayon quickly shading back and forth. He focused on getting the blue just right, remembering the way the butterfly’s wings were detailed. He looked up when he heard his mom wake up. He hurried to finish the drawing, wanting it to be complete before she saw it. He smiled to himself, jumping down from his chair.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Claudia softly uttered when she saw Stiles. She smiled back at him, reaching a hand out to brush her palm across Stiles’ buzzed hair. She remembered when Stiles cut his hair off, unable to hide her tears when he said he did it to match hers.

Stiles smiled back at Claudia. “I drew you another picture, mama,” he stated as he turned the paper towards her.

Claudia suppressed a small wince of pain as she turned on her side. She was weak—weaker than she had normally been. She kept her smile, though, refusing to worry Stiles.

Stiles pulled himself up onto the bed with Claudia, sitting beside her. He made sure to be careful of all the wires and tubes. He didn’t want to hurt her again by accidentally yanking them. He settled in next to Claudia, tucked beneath her arm. He pretended not to notice how he had to lift her arm for her. “Just like your butterfly,” he stated.

Claudia’s light laughter was weak, almost nonexistent. “It is, sweetie, it is,” she almost croaked.

“I want a butterfly like yours,” Stiles uttered. “Like in your stories,” he added.

Stiles loved the stories Claudia told about the butterflies. He had pretended—before the illness grew worse—that his mother’s stories were real, and the butterflies could create miracles, binding souls together and leading others back home.

“They said they’re not real,” Stiles weakly uttered.

“But I can see them,” Claudia suddenly stated as she looked up at the ceiling’s light above her bed.

Stiles’ drawings were hanging from the walls, some dangling from the ceiling thanks to Melissa’s help with stringing them there—at Stiles’ insistence that the butterflies needed to fly.

“Mommy?” Stiles asked as he looked at her. He could see the tears in her eyes as she stared up at the light.

“I can see them, baby,” Claudia softly confessed, staring at the light still, watching the butterflies fluttering above her. “Can you see them, my little Mischief?” She whispered.

Stiles looked up at the light.

And he could see them.

“I see them, mama,” Stiles confessed, watching the dozen butterflies circle the light above them.

Claudia’s breathing sharpened, her chest suddenly contracting. Her arms were trembling when she grabbed Stiles’ hand. Her nails dug down into his hand as she desperately tightened her grasp.

Stiles startled when all the machines started to go off. He looked at Claudia, terrified when he saw that her eyes were rolling back into her head. “Help!” He screamed, grabbing the remote filled with buttons. He hit the giant red button Melissa told him would bring the nurses if something happened.

Stiles was pulled away from Claudia, Melissa carrying him out of the room despite his yells.

~*~

John remembered the car accident the night Claudia died. He wasn’t even supposed to be working. He was on his way to the hospital when dispatch came on the radio asking for the nearest deputy.

John walked onto a crash site, metal debris and shattered glass scattered across the road. He made it down the embankment after calling for an ambulance, moving onto the crashed car. The car was overturned, the headlights still on.

John could see the young couple that was inside. He checked the pulse of the young man in the driver’s seat—he wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t feel any sign of one. He moved over to the passenger side, reaching a hand in to check the girl’s pulse next. He startled when the girl grabbed his arm.

“Help me,” the girl weakly begged, her breathing ragged and rushed.

“I’m a deputy with the Beacon Hills Police Department,” John tried to explain to her. “I’ve already radioed for an ambulance, just hold on.” He tried to find a way to safely remove her from the vehicle, before he noticed what was impeding her breathing.

The dash was pinning the girl in her seat.

“Your wife,” the young girl suddenly stated, catching John off guard. She holding a tight clasp on John’s hand, refusing to let go as she stared him in the eyes.

John stared back at the girl, uncertain what she was saying. “You shouldn’t try talking,” he started, unsure that he wanted to hear any more. “Your ribs are probably broken—”

“Claudia,” the girl uttered.

John stilled. “What?”

“Your wife, Claudia,” the girl spoke through the pain. “Go to her. Before it’s too late.”

John could hear the sirens of the ambulance in the distance, knowing they were only minutes away.

“Dying,” the girl stated. "Dying."

Later, when the EMTs asked John if the girl spoke at all before she died, he lied. When he got to the hospital, the doctors told him Claudia died minutes before he arrived. He knew it was easier to lie to himself about the girl. He never realized until a decade later that he was willfully ignorant to the most terrifying of things in the dark.

John never forgave himself for leaving Stiles alone with Claudia when she died. It’s why he let Stiles draw the damn butterflies on the walls—he wanted to see them like Stiles had.

If only for a moment, to have shared that with Claudia and Stiles.

~*~

Stiles woke up to sunlight catching his eyes. He blurrily blinked as he tried to adjust his eyes to the brightness. He knew he should have felt exhausted, like a freight train hit him and kept going. But all he felt was thirsty, like his mouth was dried out.

Stiles was staring up at the ceiling of the room he was in, recognizing the pattern of the tiles. He was in Beacon Memorial Hospital. Thousands of negative thoughts came flooding back, his chest constricting.

A firm grip squeezed his hand for the first time.

Stiles looked at the person sitting next to him, seeing that it was Derek.

Derek was sitting in the chair beside Stiles’ hospital bed, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. Because he hadn’t. He spent every day since Stiles’ hospitalization in the room with him. He only went home for a few hours when John made him. He couldn’t deny that it help that the pack was there, waiting for him. He had fallen asleep on the couch, his head resting in Boyd’s lap as Erica propped his legs up, Isaac sitting on the ground next to the couch—his head rested against Derek’s shoulder.

It was the contact Derek needed to ground him until he could see Stiles again. And it had worked for the few hours he needed to rest, before he woke back up to the need to be within reach of Stiles.

Derek stayed in the room with Stiles after that. He used the personal bathroom attached to the room for when he had to shower—well, when Lydia forced him to shower.

The Sheriff stayed most nights, waiting for the good news that Stiles was better.

Derek would fall asleep in the chair, hunched over Stiles’ bedside as he held onto Stiles’ hand. Black veins crawled up his arm as they drew away Stiles’ pain, leeching it from Stiles to give to Derek. It reminded Derek’s wolf that Stiles was still alive.

One night, Derek had asked, “You’re still with me, right?” His voice was soft, unsure of itself as he threaded his fingers with Stiles’. He was afraid of the answer.

Relief washed over Derek when the butterfly pulsed, it’s wings lighting up their electric blue.

But now, Stiles was awake and looking right back at Derek.

“You’re okay,” Derek stated. He wasn’t sure if it helped him more than it helped Stiles. But he was happy to hear the beating of Stiles’ heart slow.

“What happened?” Stiles asked, closing his eyes as he winced some. His free hand pawed at the bed’s remote, looking for the button that would raise him up. He offered a small smile as he watched Derek lean over him to press the button for him. “My hero.”

Derek couldn’t help his smile at that. He placed a quick kiss to Stiles’ forehead before sitting back down.

“No lip locking?” Stiles joked.

Derek could hear his disappointment. “You’ve been out for days,” he answered. “Your breath is horrible.”

Stiles pretended to be offended. “You’re a liar. If I asked you to kiss me, you’d do it.”

“Yeah, but I’d want to do more than just kiss you,” Derek corrected Stiles. He lifted Stiles’ hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to their entwined fingers. “And the doctors would frown on that.”

“What do they know, they’ve just gone to medical school,” Stiles huffed. “But you didn’t answer my question; what happened?”

Derek’s smile faded some. “You lost a lot of blood,” he explained.

“Did he get away?” Stiles asked.

Derek’s expression darkened. “No,” he answered. “I didn’t give him the chance to.”

Stiles released a deep breath, a weight lifting off his chest. “So, I’m guessing since I’m in the hospital, _and_ the sunlight is on me, that means I’m still a squishy human?”

Derek smiled at Stiles. “The squishiest.”

Stiles smiled back at Derek, looking down at their hands as he ran his thumb over Derek’s knuckles. His brow furrowed when he saw the butterfly still on Derek’s hand. “It didn’t disappear,” he uttered.

Derek looked down at the butterfly. “I had it when I woke up here,” he explained.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles frowned. “I didn’t know it would do that—I only ever tried using that spell once before, and it just brought more butterflies to my mom’s grave. I didn’t know it was—”

“Stiles,” Derek quickly spoke his name, reaching his hand up to cup Stiles’ face. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Stiles countered, tears in his eyes. “We were supposed to mark each other in our own ways; on our own times. But William— he ruined that too.”

“No, he didn’t,” Derek argued. “I gave you the bite because we agreed to it,” he forced Stiles to look at him. “This butterfly only solidified our bond. And I don’t care why it came about, Stiles, because it has kept me sane these past few days.” He took Stiles’ hand in his own, placing their hands against his chest—just over his heart. “I could feel your heartbeat in mine, and it kept my wolf from losing its mind.”

Stiles weakly nodded. He ran his fingertips over the butterfly, tracing its outline. “Do you know what butterflies mean in ancient folklore?”

Derek lifted Stiles’ hand to his lips again, pressing soft kisses against them. He waited too many hours to feel this again—it didn’t feel real. “They’re messengers.” His smile matched Stiles’ own. “You were calling me back to you.”

“And you came,” Stiles answered.

~*~

Stiles was obligated to use crutches for the next few weeks. He had begrudgingly accepted when his father gave him a look that told him to comply. He was making his way around the station fine, having come in with Derek to write out their reports about what happened.

Stiles was glad he got to plead amnesia, making it easier for him than Derek. He was sitting at Parrish’s desk as Derek met with John in the office. He was surveying the station, thanking people when they told him how happy they were for his safe return. He still couldn’t look at the front desk without thinking about Maria.

There was, however, an empty desk in the bullpen that caught his eye.

“Where’s Jason?” Stiles asked Parrish when he returned.

Parrish looked at the empty desk. “Your dad didn’t tell you?”

Stiles frowned, wondering if Jason had died of his wounds. He shook his head.

“He put in for a transfer,” Parrish answered. “He’s out on medical for all his wounds, but he put in a rushed request for transfer to the city.”

Stiles’ eyebrows raised slightly. “Really?”

Parrish nodded. “Something about a crazy guy with fangs, and a wolfman.”

Stiles released a soft breath.

“But your dad made sure there was a mark on his record for harassment,” Parrish added. “To be fair, I think he’s never going to try and harass someone again, considering how this panned out.”

“I hope so,” Stiles commented.

“Your dad said he’d be watching,” Parrish added as a comfort.

Stiles was happy about that. He looked up when he heard his dad and Derek coming out of the office.

John was smiling as he clapped a hand against Derek’s back. His arm reached across Derek’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “I’m proud of you, son,” he uttered.

Derek hugged John back, a smile on his face as well. “Thank you,” he answered. “I won’t let you down.”

“Hey,” Stiles yelled at them, watching the two men part. “Hands off my hubby-to-be,” he joked as he started to stand up.

“Ha, ha,” John dryly deadpanned back at Stiles.

“What’s all the celebrating about?” Stiles asked as he got closer. “Derek managed to get his story straight?”

Derek gave Stiles his typical, dejected look.

“Derek’s been promoted,” John answered Stiles.

Stiles looked at his father before turning to look at Derek.

Derek offered a shy shrug. “You knew I passed my test,” he stated.

“And now there is an opening,” John concluded, nodding his head towards Jason’s empty desk.

Stiles took a side step, using his crutch for support as he leaned in to kiss Derek. “Congratulations, babe,” he stated against Derek’s lips.

~*~

“You sure about this?” Derek asked Stiles.

“No, I just wanted to get us both naked in the Preserve, on a full moon, while the pack—which includes your creepy uncle, I might add—watches,” Stiles sarcastically answered, trying to ignore how exposed he felt.

It wasn’t freezing out, but Stiles could feel the chill of the wind circling around them. The bonfire offered enough warmth, but so did the excitement. The moon was hanging high in the sky, the pack’s laughter heard from the distance.

Peter had been telling the truth, it turned out. The ritual, incense included, was more ceremonial than anything. It was like a werewolf wedding, in terms of the pack dynamics.

And now that he was fully healed, Stiles wanted to give Derek this—to give _them_ this.

“I’m sure,” Stiles sincerely stated again, his smile still cocky and sure. “You think you can catch me?”

Derek smiled at that. He nodded, confidently puffing his chest out—he’d blame the full moon later for it. “I think I can resist it long enough to give you a head start.”

Stiles took a step towards Derek, their chests brushing together as he caught Derek’s lips in a teasing kiss. “It’s been _weeks_ ,” he commented.

The muscle in Derek’s jaw ticked. He had been overly aware that it had been weeks since they last had sex—much of it being Stiles’ fault in making him so aware.

Abstinence was supposed to make the run feel more authentic, according to Peter. And Derek was confident that Peter just said it to make his life hell. But they refrained from having sex … barely—especially when Stiles would sometimes walk out of the shower naked, or bend over a little too slowly to pick up something off the floor.

“You know I … _prepped_ for this, right?” Stiles smiled when Derek’s nostrils flared. He was sure he wasn’t going to get that far, but he found it amusing all the same. “If you catch me,”—he knew Derek was going to catch him, it was a question of when—“the forest can be our bed, okay?”

Derek’s eyes were fully glowing red now. “You better start running, smartass,” he stated through partial fangs.

“You love this ass,” Stiles smirked. He waited until he heard the pack all howling, the younger betas clearly drunk off of the wolfsbane beer Peter mixed. “No cheating,” he called back to Derek when he turned and started running through the trees.

Stiles could feel the thrill and pure giddiness they shared through the bond. He knew Derek was happy—it made him happy in return. The mark on his neck pulsed with life, just as he knew the butterfly was glowing for Derek.

It wasn’t so scary, running with the creatures of the night.

Not when the big bad wolf was following only a few strides behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! I hope you enjoyed this story. It was a lot of fun to write, and often times very anxious to plot out, lol.
> 
> (Some of you may be disappointed that there isn't a sex scene at the end, but I'm terrible at writing sex scenes, and they take me the longest to write. Maybe I'll post something on tumblr ... who knows.)
> 
> <3


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